Ashes to Ashes
by AllThingsInsane
Summary: AU. Sequel to "Go the Distance." Sam and Dean's lives are turned upside down when unimaginable tragedy strikes them again. How will they push foreword when everything they have ever known, is no more? How will Dean cope? How will Sam? Follow them as they navigate new and unfamiliar territory along with the people who have always loved and supported them.
1. Chapter 1

_Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind—_C.S Lewis.

* * *

><p>Death was a foregone conclusion for most. If it didn't strike down on you for some reason, it would strike down on you for another. Natural causes, old age. Anything could happen to you, and Death would be waiting to claim you as its own.<p>

No one was immune to the hand that fate dealt you when it was your time to go. No one could escape the powerful hold it had on you, once it was there. Sure, there were some that managed to cheat it for a time, but none that were truly immortal to it, either.

Some were more prone to it than others; the clumsy ones, the ones that somehow always managed to take a tumble while they were holding a knife, and driving off the precipice while drunk.

Hunters were especially prone to having a date with death. Everything they did, invited it in. Killing monsters, risking their lives day in and day out for the greater good, a cause they believed in in order to save the innocent from a fate worse than they could have ever imagined.

Most hunters knew, or at least had the idea, they would go out bloody. The life didn't offer them much else to go on. They imagined that they would die in some backwoods cabin or seedy motel room, and they were fine with their lot.

As long as they died doing something for the greater good. That's what it came down to for most.

Most were fortunate to not have any connections apart from the few they forged to gather useful information. It was rare nowadays to see a thriving hunting family, one that was free from the constraints of fear and uncertainty as they forged ahead in their daily lives.

For the family that Caleb Rivers and Pastor Jim Murphy had formed, they were lucky to feel the security in maintaining a permanent home base in Minnesota, along with the two boys they had raised for nearly nine years.

Thirteen-year-old Dean Winchester and his nine-year-old brother Sam, were two of the fortunate ones. They didn't know what it was like to be raised on the road, to constantly feel the keening sense of loss as they shuttled from place to place, never entirely feeling as though they belonged anywhere.

With the lives Jim and Caleb had gifted them with after the deaths of their parents, they were given a semblance of normalcy that was practically _unheard _of in hunting circles.

With the love that Caleb and Jim had given Sam and Dean, they were able to go to a school and actually stay there instead of traveling to three or four in an entire year, and they were able to have friends who were far removed from the hunting life, and were just able to enjoy normal outings that kids did.

And they had a home they could call their own. And rooms that served to shield them at night, and provide an escape when they needed a break from each other.

But even though the kids positively _thrived _under the care they were receiving, their guardians were all too aware of the risks that staying in one place presented.

Tying themselves to one place, to one location in a town not far from Blue Earth, Minnesota, they knew that relatively minor infractions like fraud and theft, were more likely to get noticed by the feds, (which is what happened when Caleb had been arrested and charged with a slew of charges, that included credit card fraud and murder).

But the decision to stay and give the boys as normal an upbringing as they could, was the one choice they tried to abide by, as they fought for everything they had, and the lives they had built around those two boys.

In most respects, they were living life barely on the edge. Any day, any second, demons could come and find them and exact revenge for any killing they had done in the name of good, and their world would be shattered again.

But like most people, Jim and Caleb had developed a false sense of security in their cozy and private community, in a town where people stopped and waved to each other, and felt safe, especially with Jim acting as their Pastor.

How wrong they were to believe that danger would never come seeking them in their safe and secure hometown.

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, this is the sequel for "Go the Distance." You guys really have to trust me on this one, okay? <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

Two days.

Forty-eight hours.

And a handful of minutes and seconds since Dean and Sam's world had been forever altered, yet again. The passage of time meant little in the grand scheme of things. It could have been moving sluggishly, or it could have been moving at breakneck speed, and Dean wouldn't have noticed the difference.

Sitting in his darkened room, rocking on his bed as he sat on the edge of it, he wound his arms around his stomach, as he tried in vain to keep the irksome tears at bay. He had already done that, he had already cried when it had first happened, and it wouldn't do him any good to start again.

It was a struggle, though.

Each time he thought of what had happened, his gut took another agonizing punch as his mind replayed over and over, the events of what had transpired.

Sucking in a deep breath, he bowed his head against the pain, as he fisted a handful of his shirt and brought it up close to his face to cry, giving himself over to it yet again. It wasn't like he had a choice, not when his brain refused to shut up and grant him a moment's peace.

When the worst thing had happened, his body had gone into protective mode, shielding him from the worst of it when an almost peaceful numbing sensation overtook everything else.

It was when his body had ripped that away from him cold turkey, did he realize just how horrendous it was to lose someone that he loved, someone that had been a part of his family, someone that he respected and admired and _loved. _

In an often unpredictable (and dangerous) hunting world they lived in, Dean never thought that it would hit his family again, never thought that he would have to live through seeing someone else die.

For all of the death and destruction he saw when he went on hunting trips, he still had had the naivete to believe that none of the cruelness of the world, would reach his peaceful and secure home, or that it would take another chunk out of his heart, and leave it broken yet again.

Or that Sam would be faced with losing yet another person in his life. Already, they both had survived losing their parents at such young ages, and now they were in the same boat. Only this time, if possible, it was _infinitely _more heart-wrenching.

Before, Dean had only the simplest of memories of his parents to hold him over in place of the real thing, but Sam had been unfortunate enough to not have any. In some ways, it made it easier, in most other ways, it had made it extremely difficult for the then one-year-old to understand.

This time was _much _harder because both of them had lasting memories that would both prove to be a blessing, and a curse to their minds as they tried to solider on ahead somehow, even though Dean couldn't imagine how they would.

This loss was crushing, shocking and completely unexpected, which he supposed was the worst kind of grief he could imagine suffering from. One second, everything was fine as he and Sam walked out the door for school that morning. The next second, everything changed for them. That person that they loved and admired, was gone, killed by the same monsters they hunted day in and day out.

Sometimes his mind played tricks on him, made him think just for one second that things _weren't _as they seemed, that any second, the clock would reverse and things would go back to the way they were before everything had gone to hell.

Of course, Dean and his family weren't that lucky—no one was.

"Dean?"

"Hey," he said, snapping his head up when Caleb walked into his darkened room.

At least he still had Caleb, at least he still him and their incredible bond they shared with each other. If it wasn't for him and for Sammy, he wasn't sure how he would have made it as far as he had, even though their tragedy had just happened two days ago.

"I tried calling you down for dinner. Sam said you were asleep."

"I tried," Dean said, avoiding Caleb's probing gaze, as he swiped his shirt sleeve across his reddened eyes. "I couldn't."

Sleep had been elusive to him, abandoning him at a time when he most needed it in order to escape reality for just a few simple hours.

But curling up under the covers _had _helped. Even though he hadn't been granted the reprieve that he had been craving, it had still bee nice to shut out the rest of the world momentarily, and give himself time to process everything that had happened.

It was still dizzying.

Still made him want to throw up, but at least his brain had calmed down enough to at least _attempt _to understand what had happened, even though in reality, it was completely beyond comprehension, at least in Dean's devastated brain.

"Too much," Caleb surmised gently, as he sat down next to Dean on his bed, before pulling him close.

"Yeah," Dean sniffled, trying to keep the tears at bay, at least while Caleb was in there. "I feel like crying, and I've already done that so many freakin' times!"

"I know that, but if your body is telling you to cry, do it," Caleb said. "Don't hold it in, Dean."

"If I start again," Dean said, as a lone tear trailed down his face. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to _stop_," he confessed, looking into Caleb's kind eyes. "I don't know-"

At that moment, the sobs that he had valiantly been holding back, overtook him completely, as his posture completely crumbled.

Caleb didn't say anything for several seconds as he simply pulled Dean into a hug, even though the thirteen-year-old resisted it at first.

"Shh," Caleb said soothingly, "shh, it will be okay, Dean. It will get easier, I promise."

"H-how?"

"I don't know, but it will. I promise."

Dean nodded, trying to take ahold of the sobs that seemed determined to keep him prisoner, as he took several deep breaths like he had been taught long ago. "Thank you."

"For what?" Caleb asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"For being here," Dean said, shaking his head. "I don't know how Sammy or me would have gotten through these last few days if it wasn't for you."

Caleb nodded. "We lost Jim, Dean, but this family is still intact. We haven't lost that, Dean. _You _haven't lost that."

"I just never imagined life without him. I sort of figured that he would always be there, just like you would be, and we would have this unbreakable family and it would be _okay_."

"I know what you mean. I've known Jim for over ten years, and when you're friends with someone for that long, and live under the same roof with someone for that long, you forget how _mortal _we all are."

Dean nodded, swallowing thickly. "Yeah. I just don't understand _why_."

"You know what Jim would say if he was still here?" Caleb asked, a slight smile appearing on his face.

"What?"

"He would say that there was a reason for this, that there was a reason why he had been taken."

"Sorry, but I don't get the _reason _for this," Dean said with a scoff. "He may have believed that, but why us, Caleb? Why did this happen?"

"I don't know, Dean, I don't."

"You know," Dean said, as a fresh batch of tears trailed down his face. "As if losing my parents wasn't bad enough, I have to lose one of the only people who I consider to be _family_?"

Caleb shook his head, feeling his heart break for the heartbroken child in front of him. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

"It's not your fault."

"I know that, but I still _am _sorry that you're in so much pain right now."

"At least I still have you, and Sammy and Bobby."

If there was one bright spot, at least he still had the brother he cherished, and the two guardians that he adored, and he knew adored him and his brother.

"That's right, bud," Caleb said softly.

"I know I sound like a _horrible _person," Dean said, his voice full of self-disgust. "But I can't _stand _the idea of going to his funeral tomorrow."

It was too soon for him. His mind had barely begun the process of mourning Jim's death, and now he was expected to attend the funeral that people that worked with him at his Church, had put together for him.

"It doesn't sound horrible, Dean. When my wife died, her parents insisted on doing her memorial and funeral within a day of her death, and it was too much."

Dean nodded. "That's how I feel. I don't know how I'm supposed to say goodbye to him."

How did you say goodbye to someone who he loved like a parent? And who had been killed by a _demon_?

"There's no right way, Dean," Caleb said quietly. "You say goodbye to him in your own way, in your own timing, same with mourning him. You do that on your own terms. You don't have to hold yourself to anyone else and what they're doing, and how they're doing it."

Dean nodded, swallowing roughly. "Are you sure it was a demon that-"

He couldn't bring himself to say the word "killed." It seemed so final to him, and he wasn't ready to dive into that pool, then.

"Yeah."

Caleb had been the one to find him, and when he had, he had found sulfur near where he had been found.

"And we have no idea who did it?"

"No. Not yet, anyway."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

"Come down and have some dinner, alright? You need it."

"Okay," Dean said, getting up to follow him out.

"I also got you some of your favorite soda."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

* * *

><p><strong>Remember when I said you guys have to trust me? This is what I was talking about. You guys have to hang in there with me and trust that I know what I'm doing. Just because Jim has died, it doesn't mean that you will never see him again in some way or another. It's Supernatural, after all! <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

Bobby arrived from Sioux Falls the morning of Jim's funeral. His presence, while reassuring and comforting to the boys, did little to actually help them in taking the weight off their shoulders that Jim's death had put on them.

Dean, for all of his supposed bravado while in the company of his friends or family, was completely heartbroken and in a deep state of shock over Jim's passing, and instead of learning how to cope with that burden of grief, he found himself doing what he had been told he had done when his parents had died:

He retreated deep within himself, not really engaging with others, or talking much. Only when he was directly spoken to, did he engage with people. It was as much a coping method, as it was an attempt to keep a lid on his emotions that were bubbling just below the surface.

When his mother had died, he had been four. While he remembered bits and pieces of the fire and the chaos that had followed it, he hadn't been old enough to really process it, hadn't been old enough to remember what that pain and confusion felt like.

At five, he had lost his father in much the same way as he had lost his mother, only the circumstances had been different and the monster in question had been different.

Even then, he only could remember a shred of what he had gone through when his father had died. He remembered the confusion he felt when he didn't return to pick up he and his brother, and he remembered the sadness that he felt when he had been informed that John wouldn't be back, but he had learned to cope.

He had learned to thrive and be happy with the family that had adopted he and Sam into their lives for better or worse, but this was different.

It was more painful because he had long-lasting memories of Jim that would carry him through this horrific time, but it would also prove to be a curse, because each happy memory, also carried with it the double whammy of knowing that he wouldn't be around to make more of those blissful moments.

Sam was in an entirely different situation than his older brother was. When his parents had died, he had been six months and just over a year. He wasn't fortunate enough to have any memories of his own of his parents, but he hadn't been old enough to remember any of the pain and confusion his brother had felt, either.

Now he was nine, and had the mental capacity to remember everything, including the unfamiliar pain and loss that he was now feeling, as he struggled to figure out how he was supposed to feel, how he was supposed to behave in a situation like this.

Now, the morning of Jim's funeral was upon them, and Dean couldn't even fathom the idea of going. It was too soon for him, and it would only further cement the reality that Jim was gone, that he wasn't ever coming back.

Once again, the evils of this world had taken someone that he loved very much, and who he knew had loved him, too. Bringing his fist up to his mouth and closing his eyes, he prayed for peace, he prayed for strength in an impossible situation.

"Hey, kid," Bobby said, coming into the living room where Dean had chosen to place himself before they were supposed to go. "Long time, no see."

It had been awhile since the older hunter had had the chance to see Sam and Dean, and while he was glad to have the chance to see them now, he hated that it was for such a traumatic and devastating set of circumstances.

"Hey," Dean said quietly, as he reclined back in the comfortable recliner they had.

"How are you doing?"

Dean didn't answer.

That would be going too far out of his comfort zone, talking about his feelings, attempting to verbalize the absolute impossible.

"Not too good?"

Dean shook his head, feeling the familiar irritation behind his eyes, as he turned his head to shield Bobby from that sight. It felt like he had been crying for three straight days, and he was sick of it, sick of losing people and sick of crying.

"How's Sammy doing?"

When Bobby had first walked in after the long drive, Sam had been upstairs getting ready for the funeral.

"Okay."

On the outside, Sam seemed to be handling the death alright. Although he was quieter and more sensitive than normal, he seemed to be internalizing everything in much the same way that Dean was himself.

"Well, good. Caleb said that you guys have been sleeping with him in his room."

"Just feels safer right now."

The boys always started out in their own rooms at night, but when the inevitable nightmares would start, they always found themselves wandering down the hall to Caleb's room, and sleeping in there.

Caleb didn't mind, and in fact, had told the boys that they could start sleeping in there right off the bat if they wanted to. For some reason, they wanted to _try _to sleep in their own rooms, but when the nightmares would scare them out of a sound sleep, they felt safer in his room.

"I can understand that. Is Caleb helping Sam get ready?"

"Yeah."

Dean had put off getting ready for the funeral as long as he could, and was determined to do it at the last possible minute in order to save himself more of the same pain that he had been suffering through.

"When are you going to get ready?"

"Hopefully never," Dean said, with a slight scoff.

"You're not ready for this?"

"No."

He didn't see how _anyone _would _ever _be ready to go to a funeral of a loved one, someone that had died before his time, and had died as a result of the evil that they fought every single day.

"Well," Bobby said thoughtfully. "Don't think of it as a _funeral. _Think of it as a way to celebrate him and his life, and the amazing things he did for people."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

Jim had done more good for people than anyone even realized. Some acts people were aware of, most of them were done without their knowledge and to _save _their lives from the invisible evil they had no idea existed.

"Hey, Bobby," Caleb said, as he came down the stairs with Sam, who was all ready for the funeral that morning. "Thanks for coming, I appreciate it."

Caleb, truthfully, had no idea how he would have even begun to organize his thoughts and get the boys ready, if Bobby hadn't been there to offer his help and support.

"Don't be an idiot," Bobby replied gruffly. "Hey, Sam," he said, turning his attention to the silent nine-year-old, who was glued to Caleb's side.

"Hi," Sam said quietly.

His bright and expressive eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and his cheeks showed just as much evidence with the fresh tear-tracks that were present on his little cheeks.

"You doing okay?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm sad."

"It's a sad day."

"I miss Jim."

"I know," Bobby said, reaching foreword and giving him a careful hug. "We all do, we all want him to be here right now, but he can't."

"I know."

Sam then spotted Dean and made his way over to his brother, sitting on the arm of the recliner as he looked in concern at his brother.

"Dean, are you okay?"

Dean shook his head. "No."

"It will be okay," Sam said bracingly, using the words that Caleb had soothed him with while he had helped him get ready.

"I know."

His words were single answer, almost robotic, as he tried to avoid thinking about getting ready, tried to avoid thinking about the process at all.

"Do you want a brother hug?" Sam asked, opening his arms wide.

He didn't, really, but he did it for Sam's sake as Dean leaned foreword and allowed his brother to hug him, and even went to so far as to wrap his own arms around his brother's tiny frame.

"Thanks, Sammy."

"Anytime, dude," Sam replied, copying the phrase that Dean and Caleb so often used around him.

In spite of himself, Dean smiled.

It strange, foreign to him after three solid days of complete and utter grief, but it felt nice to him to smile about _something_, even if it was only because of a simple phrase his brother uttered.

"You about ready to start getting ready?" Caleb asked, as he sat on the arm of the chair next to Dean.

"In how many ways can I say no?" Dean asked, shaking his head.

"I know how you feel, believe me. If you want to wait a few more minutes, you can. We still have time."

"Let's just get it over with."

Following Caleb up the stairs, he tried to avoid looking at the closed door that used to be Jim's bedroom. There were reminders of him all over the house. Whether it was in his closed bedroom door that still housed all of his clothing and personal belongings.

Or whether it was in his office downstairs that was full of his books and little notes that he wrote ideas for sermons down on. Or even in the kitchen and living room where they had family pictures hanging on the fridge, and on the walls and tables in the living room.

It would be hard to walk past that stuff everyday and realize that those physical reminders of him, were the only things they would have of him now.

"You don't have to dress all fancy-shmancy," Caleb said, as they walked into his room where Caleb had laid the boys stuff out for the funeral. "You can wear something similar to what Sam has on."

"Like, that dress shirt and the black pants?" Dean asked, as he looked down at the clothes that Caleb had selected for him.

"Yeah. Do you want to do something like I have out right now?"

"Sure."

"Okay. Bill and Ellen are here."

"They are?"

Dean hadn't been aware that they were in town.

"Yeah, they got here last night. They're staying at some hotel right now, but they'll be there this morning."

"Cool."

Dean got dressed in his clothes in a hurry—not wanting to spend any longer than necessary on it. Once he was done, he and Caleb went back downstairs to get ready to leave.

"Are we driving together?" Bobby asked.

"I think so," Caleb said, as he ran a comb through Sam's unruly hair. "We have enough room for you and I to sit in the front, and the kids can sit in the back."

"Alright. Boy, Sam," Bobby said, as he looked at his messy hair. "Bed head?"

"Yes," Sam said grumpily.

He hated it when the guys insisted on combing his hair, or making him do it. This morning, it would be much faster if Caleb did it for him.

"Turn around and stop moving," Caleb said.

Sam obeyed, as he impatiently shifted from foot to foot while he waited for Caleb to finish. "Are you done yet?"

"Yes. You look like a different person," Caleb said teasingly. "Here, Dean," he said, handing him the comb. "Do it."

"Okay."

Unlike Sam, Dean did it without complaint, knowing it would go much faster that way.

"Are we ready?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah."


	4. Chapter 4

_Blue around a morning moon_

_The color of your eyes_

_I remember holding you_

_A fall through summer skies_

_You're everything that I've become_

_Every word I say_

_I need a bell, book and candle _

_To keep your ghost away_

-Eddie Reader (Bell, Book and Candle)

* * *

><p>Walking up the ancient, stone steps of their local community church, Dean gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the hollow pit in the center of his stomach that was rapidly giving way to physical pain, as he stuck close to Caleb's side.<p>

Bobby was walking behind them with Sam. Even though his eyes searched, he couldn't make out Ellen and Bill in the crowd of people that had turned out that rainy, foggy morning for Jim's funeral.

It looked like the whole town had come out, and he wouldn't have doubted it if it had been true. Jim had been a very well liked and respected member of their community, and a beloved pastor in that church.

"Dean, it's okay," Caleb said, when he saw just how wrecked Dean was. "Take a deep breath, okay?"

Dean nodded, blinking back tears as he inhaled a deep breath, trying to follow his advice, even though he doubted it would do much good. Seeing those people, seeing their black mourning clothes, it brought the realness of this horrific situation to a head, and it left him feeling momentarily breathless as he followed Caleb to the front of the church where they would be sitting.

As he slid into the pew with Caleb, he was acutely aware of the heads that turned when they walked in. People in that town knew who they were, knew how close they were, knew what a close family unit they were, and Dean hated feeling their looks of pity and sympathy.

He didn't _want _or _need _their pity—he just wanted Jim to be alive, he wanted all of this to be a horrible nightmare that he would be fortunate enough to wake up from soon.

Of course, it was an impossible dream and he was well aware of that as he clenched his hands into fists in order to regain some semblance of control over his battered emotions. He had been crying so hard the last few days that he was sure his face was permanently blotched from it, but he didn't care anymore.

And even if he had, there was no way he would be able to stop the tears now that they were there, now that they were there to say goodbye to Jim and the amazing person he had been, and the amazing life that he had led.

"Dean," Caleb whispered softly, pulling his clenched hand apart. "You're bleeding."

Looking down at his palm in surprise, Dean saw that a small amount of blood _had _been drawn accidentally from how hard he had been clenching his hand together.

"Thanks," Dean said, as he used his blood—free hand to wipe the moisture from his eyes. "I didn't notice."

"It's okay," Caleb assured him, squeezing his shoulder. "It will be okay, Dean. We just have to get through this, and then we can go home and rest."

Dean nodded in agreement with his words, as he glanced down at his hand.

Now that he had been made aware of it, he could feel a dull stinging sensation originating from where the cut had been made. Rubbing it absently, he glanced behind him as more people flocked into the church.

Some faces he could easily pick out among the crowd. Some were a complete mystery to him as he struggled to put a name to the face, but he supposed that was how it would be. There were hundreds of people that knew Jim that didn't know _him_ from a hole in the wall.

"Thanks for coming, guys," Caleb said, standing up when he saw Bill and Ellen walk into their pew along with Bobby and Sam.

"Of course," Bill said, as he and Caleb shook hands and hugged briefly. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Ellen said, as Dean stood to hug her.

Dean nodded. "Thank you."

Having the support around him, helped. Even though it couldn't possibly compensate for the pain and loss he felt at Jim's death, it helped to know that people around them cared and that they were feeling his loss just as heavily as he and his family were.

They didn't have much time to converse after their brief exchange—Ellen went to sit with Bill in the row behind them, while Bobby and Sam finally fought their way around the mass of people and settled down with Caleb and Dean.

Sniffling, Sam laid his head on Caleb's shoulder as the associate pastor, (a close friend of Jim's, and the one they had chosen to conduct the service, and would later preside over his burial), began speaking.

"Who could forget," the pastor said, with a slight smile, "Jim's exuberance and energy? At six in the morning," he added, as some in the church, Caleb and Dean included, smiled. "On a Sunday, when most of us would much rather be asleep."

"Remember when he jumped down those stairs in the morning?" Caleb whispered to Dean.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, smiling through his tears.

"He would," the pastor said with a chuckle, "bring eight or nine cups of that really delicious coffee to our meetings, and it was always with a bright smile and a natural enthusiasm to do the job that he loved, a job that wasn't even a _job _to him."

It was true—some people went to work because they felt like they _had _to, because they needed the money, they needed the support, but with Jim and the amazing group of people he got to work with every day, it was never a job to him. It was, to him, a unique way of reaching out to people and giving them hope.

"Whether," the pastor said, as he bowed his head, no doubt to shield a few stray tears. "Whether," he said, finally regaining his composure as he looked back up again. "You knew Jim personally, which I'm sure most of us here felt like we did, or whether you just knew him as your pastor, he had the ability to make you feel at ease, to make you feel like you belonged to something special, and he made us all feel loved, and that's something that was special about him, and a trait that made him stand out among all the others."

"Remember when he went up to that group of kids?" Caleb whispered to Dean. "They were playing with that Playdoh stuff, and he joined in?"

"Yeah," Dean said, as he used his sleeve to wipe his eyes. "The kids were new, and he wanted to make sure they felt welcome. They weren't even freaked out by meeting someone new, they just went along with it."

"Because he made them feel comfortable," Caleb said, his own eyes misting over.

"We all know," the pastor said, speaking again, "of the circumstances in which he left us, but I ask that when you think of Jim, you try not to think about how he died, but how he _lived_, and what he did with the time that he had on this planet."

The "official" story was that Jim had been murdered. No mention was made of the demon that had prematurely ended his life. That was information that only his family and Bill and Ellen knew, no one outside their close circle knew that.

Throughout the entire service, Dean had held it together. He had kept it together while specially selected songs were played that Jim liked, and he even kept it together during the prayers, but when the pastor was beginning to close up the sermon, he almost lost it as a mountain of tears fell down his face.

"It's okay," Caleb whispered, as he pulled Dean close. "It's okay, bud."

Dean shook his head, as he used a shaking hand to wipe away the tears. "I know," he managed to choke out. "I know."

* * *

><p>In accordance with his own personal beliefs and in keeping with hunting tradition, Jim had been cremated. His ashes would be buried in a private service that would only be attended by family and close friends.<p>

Dean was grateful for that—he didn't know how much more he could take that day, and having half the church accompany them to the cemetery, would have been way too much for his soul to take.

"Are you glad that part's over?" Caleb whispered to him, as they walked up to where the burial would take place.

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

In most ways, he had been dreading the funeral more than anything. At the burial, they would lower his ashes into the ground, and then the pastor would say a few more words, and it would be over and done with.

With the memorial and funeral, he had to sit through nearly an hour of the pastor speaking to everyone gathered there, how special and important Jim was, and while he agreed with everything the pastor had said that morning, it had still been hard to wrap his brain around the fact that this was a funeral for _Jim_, someone who just days ago, had been a living, breathing person, and was now nothing more than ash in a box that was going to get buried.

It was dizzying, as he swayed slightly as they walked up the short incline to the point they had selected. It was beautiful and it was private, something that Dean and his family thought was important for when they came to see him.

While the pastor spoke before the ashes were lowered into the ground, Dean tried to tune him out as he focused on the sound of his own breathing, the soothing feeling of it, letting him know that he was in control as he grasped his baby brother's hand, and leaned against Caleb for the emotional support he was craving.

Once the ashes had been lowered, (which seemed to Dean, to take an eternity), he and his family each picked up a handful of dirt, and threw it down into the ground. It was symbolic, it was touching, and it was also completely heart-rending for Dean, who, once they were done, instantly retreated to a more private place in order to safely deal with his emotions before they got the best of him.

"Dean?"

"I'm fine," he said automatically, when he looked up and saw Bobby.

"No, you're not, boy," he said gruffly. "I can see it from a mile away."

"Good for you."

"Now, I know all you want is to shut yourself away and hide from everyone, but you can't do that. You have to let the people that love you, in."

"Thanks for the advice," Dean said, his voice shaking. "Where's Caleb?"

"He's with Sam, and Bill and Ellen."

"Okay, thanks."

Walking over to where the small group stood, he felt his heart break all over again for his brother. Sam was freely crying, as Caleb held him in his arms, whispering something into his ear, as he swayed soothingly with him like he used to do when he was a toddler.

"Shh," he was whispering, as Sam wrapped his arms around his neck. "It's okay, Sammy, it's okay. Shh."

Setting Sam down once he had stopped crying, Caleb turned his attention to Dean. "That was a nice service, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "It was. I think Jim would have liked it."

"Me too," Caleb said, as he pulled him into a hug. "We're going to go home, have something to eat with Ellen and Bill, and then we're going to rest."

"Okay."


	5. Chapter 5

Caleb was relieved for the chance to wind down. After Jim's funeral, the Harvelle's had come over for lunch, and while he had been glad to have them there and have their support, he was relieved when they finally left to go back to their hotel for the afternoon.

After the last few, emotionally exhausting days that had culminated in Jim's funeral, which had been incredibly difficult and gut-wrenching, he was grateful for the chance for he and the boys to catch up on some much needed rest and relaxation, and hopefully begin the (long) process of healing, and somehow come to grips with Jim's untimely and tragic passing.

Caleb wasn't an idiot—he knew that it would take time before there was any semblance of normalcy again in the house, and he also knew that Sam and Dean would both have different responses to their grief, and some of it was already showing.

For Sam, he had become more quieter than usual, and more needy of Caleb and Bobby's attention. This was the first major death he had experienced in his young life, and he didn't know how to respond to that keening sense of loss and need for Jim, that was acute in everyone in the house.

And for Dean, he responded in the only way that was both familiar and comforting to him: He shut down. Internalizing everything had become something of a comfort to him, as he kept himself under a tight leash emotionally.

It was a coping method, but it was also a potentially harmful one if he kept himself under too much of his rigid control. Caleb knew he was terrified of expressing any emotions that he felt like he couldn't handle, and the grief and devastation that had followed Jim's death, was one of them.

They had always shared an open and honest relationship with each other, and Caleb hoped that Dean would start to feel more like he could open up to him again, and share some of those feelings that he had kept under lock and key the entire three or four days since Jim's passing.

Once Bill and Ellen had left, Dean had immediately retreated to his bedroom for some much needed privacy, and while Caleb knew that Dean needed that rest more than anyone, he also hoped that if he went in there and it was just the two of them without Sam or Bobby around, he would feel more inclined to open up.

Deciding to test the waters carefully, Caleb walked up the stairs to his bedroom and knocked on the door. Usually, the guys invited themselves into the boys rooms, and normally never allowed them to lock their door, but when he tried the handle and it was locked, he decided to let him slide on that just that one time.

"Dean? Can I come in? It's just me."

Sam had long since gone to take a nap, and Bobby was downstairs in the basement watching something on TV.

This would be one of the only times they would have to talk where it would be just the two of them, before someone interrupted them.

There was silence on Dean's side of the room, before there was movement behind the door, and Dean swung the door open. "Yeah," he said, moving aside for Caleb to come in.

Relieved, (and slightly surprised), Caleb walked into the room, closing the door behind him, as he sat down on Dean's desk chair. "So," he said, clasping his hands together, "are you glad this morning is over?"

He knew _he _was, but he was more curious as to how Dean was taking all this in, which was kind of the purpose for their discussion.

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, as he nervously paced the length of his room, before finally settling himself on his bed. "It was nice, everything the pastor said, but I'm glad it's done."

He had barely had time to breathe and collect his thoughts since Jim had died, and he was relieved that he was finally getting that chance now, as he took much needed solitude in his room.

"I am, too."

The funeral, while much needed for all of them in order to say some sort of goodbye to Jim, had also been extremely difficult to go through with. It was the final nail in the coffin, making the realness of their situation, all that much harder.

Dean nodded, as he sprawled over his bed. "Where's Sam?"

"Asleep."

"Good."

His little brother had mostly held it together during the funeral, but had crumbled during the burial service, and had sought out much needed comfort from Caleb.

"What about _you?_" Caleb pressed, knowing he was stepping into dangerous territory. "How are _you_ doing?"

"Fine," Dean said, as he anxiously twisted his hands around each other.

"Dean, come on," Caleb said gently. "It's just you and me, bud. Talk to me."

Dean didn't say anything; this was going too far out of his comfort zone, and he wasn't sure how to react. He wasn't sure how to respond to any of this, and it was one of the reasons why he didn't verbalize it, because he didn't know _how._

"I feel like crap," Dean said finally, choosing the response that he was most familiar with.

"I understand," Caleb said softly. "But what else are you feeling like?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know what to say. I don't know _how _to say it."

This was new to him. When his parents had both died, he had been too young to properly deal with the grief that he must have felt. This was new to him, and he wasn't sure what the right response was.

"Just say it," Caleb coached. "It's just me. Talk to me like you normally do. I'm not going to tell you what's the right or wrong way to do this."

"This all new to me," Dean finally said, "and I don't know how I should feel, how I should handle this."

The most familiar way of handling any kind of grief or stress, was to internalize it. Not verbalizing the impossible, and not talking about his feelings, was comforting to him. It was something that he knew, and it was something that he resorted to now.

"Well," Caleb said thoughtfully, "there's no right or wrong way to feel about this, Dean."

"I know," Dean said, shaking his head, as he felt the familiar irritation behind his eyes, and he hated it. He hated the out of control feeling it gave him, and he hated the endless amount of crying he had been doing lately. "But these _thoughts _that I have? They're really bad ones, and I can't shut them up."

Swiping a hand across his eyes, he inhaled a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control as he looked back up at his guardian. His only one, if he was being realistic. Bobby lived too far away to be there on a daily basis, and the Harvelle's lived even further away in Nebraska.

He should feel comfortable talking about this with Caleb, but so much had happened, that he wasn't even sure where to begin with all of it.

"What kind of thoughts, bud?"

Dean shook his head in utter self-disgust as he twisted his shirt nervously in his hands. "I feel _angry_. I feel so angry _all _the time, and if it's not that, it's me bawling my _freakin _eyes out."

"Dean, it's perfectly okay to feel angry. _I _feel angry myself," Caleb reasoned. "It's okay to feel this, Dean, it's okay to open up about this."

"No, it's not," Dean rebutted.

"Why not?"

"Because I feel angry at _Jim_. Even though I _know _what happened, wasn't his fault, I still feel so angry at _him. _What the hell is the matter with me?" he whispered tearfully, as he shook his head.

It was completely irrational, and he knew that. Instead of directing his anger at the demon that had been responsible for the murder, he had directed his anger at the _victim_. It was completely mind-boggling to him, and he didn't understand why he was feeling the way he was.

"Dean," Caleb said, leaning foreword in his seat. "There is nothing _wrong _with you. This is a _normal _response, believe me, it is."

His heart was absolutely breaking for Dean. Dean, who was normally so strong and self-assured, was completely devastated by what had happened, and he didn't know how to rationalize it in his head, didn't know how to deal with the strange set of feelings he was having.

"How?" Dean whispered tearfully. "How is that _normal _to be angry at _him_? He didn't ask for this! He didn't ask to be _murdered _by a _demon!_"

"I know, I know," Caleb said soothingly, as he pulled Dean into a hug. "I know it doesn't make sense, but that's part of this grieving process. You have to work through it, Dean, but there's nothing wrong with you."

"Why am I feeling like this? Why do I feel angry at him?"

"It's part of the grief, Dean. A lot of people say there's five stages of the grieving process."

"W-what are the stages?" Dean asked shakily.

"Denial," Caleb said gently, as he began to list them all out. "Anger, which is what you're going through right now. Bargaining, depression, which I think all of us have right now, and then acceptance."

"How long will I have to go through this?"

"It's different for everyone, Dean. But do you want me to be brutally honest with you?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"This pain that you're feeling right now, it _will _lessen eventually. It will dull to the point where it won't hurt as much anymore. Certain things or objects will trigger those feelings sometimes, but eventually you'll get to the point where the memory of him will be something positive, something happy, instead of sad."

"I hope."

"It will," Caleb reassured him. "You just have to get to that point."

"I don't see how I'll ever be able to _accept _his death."

"You may never get to that point, Dean, some people don't. The idea is to work through this time at your own pace, and come out of it stronger and with a sense of peace, I guess."

Dean nodded. "What can I do when I feel _so _angry?"

"Anger is a natural, human emotion, but there _are _ways you can channel it so it won't be something negative, where you're going off on people, and causing problems. Think. What do you like to do when things get tough?"

"I like to train."

"See?" Caleb said, rubbing his shoulder. "That's something you _love _to do, so how about we set up a time every day to go down in the basement, and do that."

"Okay," Dean said, allowing a small smile to grace his features.

"And I can kick your ass," Caleb said teasingly, avoiding the playful punch that Dean aimed at his shoulder. "And _occasionally _you can kick mine."

"Sounds like a deal."


	6. Chapter 6

Even though both boys felt safer during the day, night was an entirely different situation for both of them. With the darkness, came the heightened feelings of vulnerability, and fear. Usually, the darkness wasn't an issue for either of the boys, but ever since Jim had died, the things they had previously harbored no fear toward, was suddenly becoming a problem.

A common factor in both of their minds, was the darkness. For some reason, it terrified Sam now, and it made Dean increasingly uneasy, as both boys requested either a hall light to be left on, or in Sam's case, a nightlight.

Caleb didn't mind either of those requests, and wanted to be there to help them in any way he could. It was the night of Jim's funeral. The boys had both been through an emotionally taxing day, and Caleb hoped that with the conclusion of the memorial services, that they would finally be able to relax, and hopefully catch up on sleep that had sorely been lacking.

For the past few days, both boys had inevitably ended up in Caleb's room, after the usual series of nightmares had assaulted their already traumatized brains. It felt safer to be in the same vicinity as someone they _knew _could protect them from anything that might want to harm them, than it would be to rough it out in their own rooms.

"You want me to leave the nightlight on?" Caleb asked Sam, as he helped him get ready for bed.

"Yes," Sam said, as he snuggled up in his Spiderman-themed bed. "And can you put salt down?"

Caleb nodded, adhering to both requests, as he laid down the salt on the windowsill, and the doorway. It made him feel safer, and Caleb was glad for that. If it would make the child feel even the tiniest bit more secure, than he would certainly oblige him.

"There you go, kiddo," he said, as he bent down to kiss his forehead. "Goodnight," he said, as he drew the covers securely around him.

"Wait. Can you—can you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

"Sure," Caleb nodded, as he sat on the edge of Sam's bed, and gently began rubbing his back. "You want me to keep doing this?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. It feels nice."

"Okay."

Caleb smiled softly, as he saw Sam's tiny eyes begin to shut. It was obvious he was exhausted, and why wouldn't he be? He had barely slept the last few nights, and he had to endure Jim's funeral and the emotional trauma _that _represented.

Once Sam had fully fallen asleep, Caleb carefully got up from the bed, and walked out of the room, careful to leave his door open where the light would be more prominent, and then walked downstairs to where Bobby was.

The two hadn't had a chance to really talk much since Bobby had gotten there earlier that morning. Jim's funeral, and then his talk with the boys, had completely wiped out any chance of an earlier catch-up.

"Hey," Bobby said, as he saw Caleb enter the kitchen, where he had situated himself with a bunch of new possible cases to check up on. "The boys asleep?"

"For now," Caleb replied, as he made himself a steaming cup of coffee.

It was nearing ten at night, but he doubted he would get much sleep, anyway, and coffee happened to be one of his favorite beverages to consume.

"What are you talking about?" Bobby asked, as he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Both of them have started having nightmares," Caleb said, as he raised the cup to his mouth, and took a long and satisfying pull from it.

"They have?"

Caleb nodded, sighing deeply. "Yeah. They always start out in their rooms, but then they just camp out in my room when they hit."

"I remember you telling me that. Have they done that every night?"

"Pretty much. If it makes them feel safer, then I'm all for it."

"Of course."

The boys had both been put through the emotional wringer the last few days, and if sleeping in Caleb's room, made them feel even the smallest bit safer, then Caleb was all for it.

He hated the emotional side—effects Jim's death had brought out in them, and he hated to see two normally independent boys, become scared, vulnerable. Jim's death had shocked them to their core, and they no longer felt safe, and could not escape the crippling nightmares they had begun suffering from.

"You know how I found Jim, right?"

"In his office in the church, right?"

Caleb nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. "Yeah. I was calling him from _my _work about something, and when I couldn't reach him, I knew something was wrong. I could feel it, and so I went to the church, and when I found him-"

Caleb trailed off, shaking his head as that memory assaulted his senses. It was still as clear to him as it had been three days ago, and it was just as horrifying now as it had been then.

"There was sulfur?"

"Yeah—tons of it."

"I've never heard of something like that before."

"Join the club," Caleb said dryly. "It was a demon, we know it was, so how could it get into the church? Aren't they supposed to be built on hollowed ground?"

"I suppose a demon who has it in big with the man downstairs, might have stronger powers than your regular run-of-the-mill demon. Just a guess," Bobby added, as he resumed perusing the paper.

"Well, here's the thing," Caleb said, shaking his head in disbelief. "How am I supposed to feel safe sending the boys to their school?"

For years, Sam and Dean had been attending a private school for exactly that reason. Jim and Caleb had believed that sending them to a private school with a strong religious background, would make it impossible for a demon to reach them.

Now, he had no idea what to think.

"They go to a private school?"

"Yeah, and if a demon had the juice to break into a _church_, how easy would it be for them to break into a school?"

"Good point, but what are you going to do with the boys when you're working?"

Caleb had a full time job that kept him out of the house until the boys got home from school, but he had no idea how he would manage his demanding work schedule and make sure the boys were kept in the same house they had grown up in, and make sure they stayed safe.

Salt lines would only do so much against certain demons, and he didn't want to lay all that responsibility on Dean, when he had already been through so much recently.

"I have no idea," Caleb said with a slight, hysterical laugh. "You know before, I had Jim who had a more flexible work schedule than I do. He had the option of taking time off if he needed to for whatever reason, but with me, if I go over a certain number of hours, my boss will fire me."

"Can he do that if you explain to him _why _you're taking time off?"

"Well, they _do _give you time off for a death in the family, but after that time period is over with, they expect you back. And I don't think giving the excuse that a demon attacked Jim and I need to make sure the boys are safe, will suffice."

Bobby shook his head in astonishment. "How long do you have off?"

"Two weeks."

"That's decent."

"Yeah, I know," Caleb said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But what happens after?"

"If you want me to, I could stay here for a few weeks, at least until everything is settled."

"What about your place?"

"I can call my friend Rufus, and have him cover the place while I'm gone."

"If you could, that would be good."

It would take the weight off his shoulders where it concerned the boys, and he would know that they would be well looked after while he had to work.

"I can. Don't worry about it."

"Thank you."

"What about Dean? How is he? I noticed he went upstairs after Ellen and Bill left."

"Yeah," Caleb said. "I feel so sorry for him. I feel horrible for _both _of them, but Dean just takes everything so hard and this has been awful for him. But we talked finally, and cleared the air."

"Good."

"He wants to train more, thinks it will help him with his anger, and so we're going to work together every day again."

"Good. I think it might help you _both._"

"I hope so."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean had sorely missed his and Caleb's workout sessions the last few days they had fallen by the wayside. It was an outlet that succeeded in ridding their bodies of all their pent up energy, and now for Dean, it would prove to be the only vice that would rid him of the intense anger that he had been struggling with since Jim's death.

Walking down the stairs to the finished basement, their hideaway, he flipped on the light switch on the far corner of the wall, and immediately ventured over to the chest that housed all of their different workout equipment.

Scanning the available equipment at his disposal, he considered a few options, before finally selecting the boxing gloves. Punching something—or someone—would be a good way to get out all of his rage, and it would prove to be an excellent resource for upping his strength that he and Caleb had been working on before all this had happened.

"You want to box?" Caleb asked, as he came down the stairs and into the fairly spacious room, which also doubled as their TV room.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "I think I need to take a few swings at something...or _someone_," he amended, eying Caleb with a faint grin.

"I agree," Caleb said. "What do you think about changing the routine up a little bit?"

In the four or five years since he had first started working with Dean, there had always been a certain routine they followed, with few variations except for when Dean was ready to graduate to the next stage of his regimen.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, as he anxiously shifted from foot to foot. Now that he was so close to getting in a good, clean workout, he could feel the familiar rush of adrenaline that always accompanied it, as he waited for his next set of instructions.

"We're going to switch the intensity a little bit."

For the past year, Caleb had been working with him on a series of low intensity exercises, but in an effort for Dean to release some of his rage, Caleb wanted to see how he would do with some high intensity workouts.

"Make it tougher?"

"Yeah, what do you think?"

"Sounds good."

His body had already been long since acclimated to the power of the lower intensity workouts, and he couldn't wait to see how it would react when he pushed it a little bit further this time.

"Alright," Caleb said, as he grabbed some boxing gloves, and strapped them on. "Put those on, and come over here," he said, moving into the center of the room.

Dean instantly obeyed, as he moved in front of Caleb. "Now what?"

"Hit me with your best shot."

"But what if-"

"You won't hurt me," Caleb assured him. "The gloves will protect us from causing any serious damage, but the usual rules still apply."

"No stomach punches."

"Right. Hit me anywhere but there, and you'll be good."

"What about the ass?" Dean asked cockily. "Since, you know, I'm going to kick it?"

Without warning, Caleb reach out and grabbed his hand and easily flipped him on his back. "See that? That's how fast an enemy can gain the upper hand."

"Yeah," Dean said, panting slightly, as he got back on his feet. "I get that."

"Alright," Caleb said, "you won't learn that trick until you're a little bit older, but I thought that would catch you off guard."

"And you were right."

"Aren't I always?" Caleb asked teasingly.

"Shut the hell up."

"Okay," Caleb said, as he bumped their gloved hands together. "For right now, I want you to listen carefully, okay?"

"Okay."

"As much as I want you to be involved _physically _in this workout, I want you to put your mind to this, too."

"What are you talking about?"

"Channel all of the anger that you've been feeling, and put it into this workout."

"I don't know how to do that."

He was all for channeling his anger into the workouts, but he had no idea how to properly covey that, and make it effective. In the day or two since Jim's funeral, his anger had ebbed a little, but it was always present, always just below the surface, and he hated it.

"Everything you feel," Caleb said calmly, as he coached him, "you put into your punches, into your kicks, anything."

"Okay," Dean said, taking a deep breath.

"Think about Jim," Caleb said, as he threw a hard punch at Dean. "Think about how his death makes you feel, how _angry _you are."

Feeling the irrepressible tears sting the corners of his eyes, Dean lunged foreword with his own punch, surprising even himself at how powerful it was. "I want to kill that son of a bitch demon!"

"Yes," Caleb said, "think about that demon," he said, as he switched it up and pushed Dean back a few feet. "Think about how angry you are at Jim. How he left you! Show me how that feels!"

"He didn't leave me!" Dean yelled, as he reacted the same way Caleb had, and pushed him back with all his might. To his surprise, he actually managed to send Caleb back a foot or two. "That demon killed him! Just like it killed my parents!"

"Good!" Caleb praised. "You feel that jolt when you push or hit me?"

"Yes," Dean said, as he struggled to catch his breath.

"That's your anger," Caleb said, "that's _you _expressing your anger, Dean."

Dean could feel it, too. He could feel the racing of his own heart, signifying that his body was getting the workout it had been craving, and he could feel most of his emotions begin to flood out of his system, also signaling that he was beginning to release everything, finally after so long of wanting it.

"It feels good," Dean nodded.

"And if we keep doing this, Dean, you'll keep getting it out."

"I know."

"I think you handled the higher intensity workouts really good."

"I do, too."

Passing him a water bottle, Caleb took a long and satisfying drink from his own, before going to sit on the sofa with him. "The things I said about Jim-"

"I know. You were trying to get me to react so I would get everything out."

"Exactly."

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

_Two Weeks Later_

It was too soon—at least in Caleb's opinion—to go back to work. Not that he had much choice in the matter. His boss had already given him extended leave after Jim's funeral, but now his patience was wearing thin, and he was short on guys in the construction company he ran.

It was more than returning to work, though, and that's what had Caleb worried. It had been almost two weeks to the day since Jim's death, and while most of the initial shock had worn off, the anger and pain that they were all feeling, had still remained.

Dean was doing well with his daily training sessions, especially since Caleb had upped the intensity of the workouts, and had even started teaching him the incredibly complex art of exorcising demons from people.

Of course, practice on the real thing, would come later. For the moment, Dean was enjoying the simple fact that he could start learning it _at all. _

Even though his anger and rage issues were still a problem, he was better learning how to control it. If he felt close to losing it, he would usually seek out Caleb and they would either talk it out, or go downstairs and work out.

Both options were excellent resources for him, and he utilized them as much as he could. Even though the nightmares were still present for both of them, Caleb had seen a gradual decline in the number of times they sought out his bedroom as a comfort tool, even though he welcomed it when they _did _come in.

For Sam, he still didn't know what to think about Jim's passing. He knew the truth, that a demon had killed his guardian, but the usual emotions that went with losing someone you love, were all strange to him, and he wasn't sure exactly how to respond to that.

Caleb noticed that he had become more clingy with him and Bobby, more demanding of their attention than he normally had been before all of this had happened, and was more whiny when things didn't go his way, but Caleb didn't know how else he _should _behave.

The kid had already lost so much in his short life, and was now experiencing the loss of one of the only people who had become family to him. It had to be a mouthful for the kid to take in, and Caleb was at a loss as to how to guide him through that process.

Especially now that he had to work.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, as he hovered in the bathroom doorway, as he watched Caleb put on his work clothes for the day.

"I have to go back to work, buddy."

"No," Sam said, as his eyes widened. "You _can't _go back."

"Why not?" Caleb asked, as he turned to look at the stricken nine-year-old.

"Because," Sam said, struggling to form the words needed for Caleb to understand. "I don't _want _you to go."

Realization lit up Caleb's face, as he realized what the problem was, as he got down on one knee in front of Sam. "You're worried that I won't come back, right?"

Sam nodded, his bottom lip quivering with the threat of oncoming tears, as he sat on Caleb's outstretched knee. "Yes."

"I know," Caleb said, as he hugged Sam close, completely understanding why he was feeling the way he was feeling. "And I want to be here with you and Dean, but I _have _to work."

"Why?" Sam challenged. "Why can't you stay with us?"

There it was—that whining lilt that often appeared in Sam's tone when he wasn't getting what he wanted, only in this case, Caleb felt more sorry for him than annoyed.

"Because I have to work," Caleb said gently.

Now he was completely torn about what to do. It had only been two weeks, and while that was a significant amount of time to pass, he also realized that it was too soon for the boys who had known Jim their entire lives, and had just gotten over the shock of losing him so abruptly.

"But—but," Sam hiccuped. "Jim went to work, too, and he never come home!"

"I know," Caleb said, as he turned his head to wipe away a few stray tears, before turning back to face Sam. "I'll tell you what, after work, I'll come home and I'll pick you and Dean up and we'll go pick up dinner together."

Sam seemed to consider that deal, as he turned his head to the side, as if thinking about the proposition. "But what if-"

"I don't come back?"

Sam nodded.

"I _promise _I will."

"Pinkie swear," Sam said, holding out his pinkie.

Smiling, Caleb looped his pinkie with Sam's. "Alright, are you going to be okay while I'm gone?"

"Yes."

"Okay, and on my break, I'll call you and Dean. Sound good?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Going downstairs, he saw that Bobby had already started making breakfast, for which he was grateful. It would be one less thing on his already packed schedule that day.

"Thanks," he said, as Bobby passed him some toast and eggs.

"No problem—you about to head off?"

Caleb nodded. "Are you doing okay, Dean?"

Dean had been silent when he had come downstairs, no doubt he had heard part of the conversation he had had with Sam, and was silently forming his own opinions on Caleb returning to work.

"Yeah," Dean shrugged. "When are you coming home?"

"Around five, and then I'll pick you two up and we'll go pick up dinner."

"Sounds good."

It would get the boys out, and it would provide them with a chance to be out in the real world again. They hadn't been out much since the funeral, and Caleb could tell they were going a little stir crazy sitting around.

"Alright, come and give me a hug," Caleb said, as he shrugged on his coat.

Dean instantly got up from his place, and went to give him a hug. "Be careful," he said to Caleb. "I won't survive if I lose you, too."

"You're not going to lose me, Dean. Not ever."

"Okay."

* * *

><p><strong>Just me and another one of my paranoid-ish question: Is this story boring you guys? I mean, I LOVE writing it, but I'm just worried it's lagging a little. In the next few chapters, things pick up, but I was just worried it was getting a little boring. <strong>

**-Casey**


	9. Chapter 9

"I found a job."

"You...what?"

"I found a _job_," Dean repeated, as he glanced up at Caleb. "In the paper," he prompted.

"Seriously?" Caleb said, _looking_ and _sounding _impressed, as he glanced down at the article in question.

"Well, yeah," Dean said with a shrug. "I haven't had much else to do."

In the two or so weeks since Jim had died, Caleb and Bobby had kept the boys home from school for their own safety, in case the demon that had been responsible for Jim's death, came lurking around again.

"True," Caleb conceded, knowing that Sam and Dean were going slightly stir crazy being cooped up in the house for so long, but at least Dean recognized that it was for their own safety, while Sam had started to rebel against those stringent new rules. "So walk me through it."

"Don't you want to look at it?" Dean asked, offering him the paper for his own inspection.

"I will, but I want _you _to tell me what we might be dealing with."

That had been part of Dean's training—recognizing certain signs from newspapers that others wouldn't think to pick up on, and then use those signs to put together a case. It was exhausting, sometimes frustrating work, but Dean had proved to be a quick study on that, just as he had on all the other aspects of training that Caleb had worked with him on.

"Okay," Dean said with a sigh. He was anxious to tell Caleb what he had found, and if the potential job had any merit to it or not. "Two kids were found in a _locked _room with their hearts ripped out. Weird, right?"

Caleb nodded, as he listened. "Yeah, it sounds suspect. Go on."

"The door was locked from the _inside_."

Caleb nodded, before taking the newspaper article and glancing down at it. "Okay, so what would be the monster, in this case?

"Um," Dean said, as he searched his brain for all of the monsters that he was aware of at that point. "Werewolf."

Dean had never been allowed near a monster that big before, and he doubted he would be allowed near it now. For one, he hadn't had the proper training, and two, he wasn't nearly old enough to handle something of that magnitude.

"But," Caleb prompted, as he looked at the enthused thirteen-year-old.

"_But_," Dean said, as he glanced at Caleb. "The lunar cycle isn't right."

Werewolves obeyed certain cycles of the moon, and the timeline of the attacks, contradicted the usual pattern of behavior that those creatures followed.

"Right," Caleb nodded, tapping a pen against his chin, as he debated what they were dealing with, with Dean. "So what else could it be? Does anything else match the profile?"

"Not really," Dean said, shaking his head in irritation. "It could be a spirit," he said with a shrug.

Caleb nodded. "True. Is there any relation to the two girls?"

"They were sisters."

"And werewolves don't differentiate between victims."

"Right," Dean said, "but spirits _can _if they're vengeful enough."

"Yeah," Caleb said, as he leaned over the paper, circling useful information, as he scanned the article with his trained mind. "Some spirits have been known to hang on to a family through the generations, going down the line and punishing them for what it thinks they did wrong."

"So that's we might be dealing with?"

"Appears to be," Caleb said. "Where is it?"

"It's local—a few towns over."

"Good. That should easeus back into this."

Dean nodded, looking down to shield a few stray tears. "Yeah."

It would be their first hunt since Jim had died, and while Dean was anxious to get back in the game, and had actually sought out the case they were going on, it would be hard to get back into it, knowing of how much things had changed since their last hunt.

"So at least we can be home at the end of the day," Caleb said, "we won't have to leave Sam and Bobby, and we can be here when we're not doing _that_."

"Yeah."

"Are you doing okay?" Caleb asked, as he took a second look at the barely teenaged kid.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm as good as I can be right now," Dean said, as he cupped his hand under his chin.

"Good."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, as he meandered into the kitchen. No doubt he had heard Caleb and Dean discussing some of the case, and was curious as to what was going on.

"A job," Dean said.

"You mean a _hunt_?"

At nine, Sam was only a few months into the knowledge of what his family did. An accidental discovery of his father's journal, had opened his brain to the knowledge of what his family did, and what had really happened to his parents.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, trading glances with Caleb.

"But isn't that dangerous?"

"Yeah," Caleb said, "but it's _really _close this time, and we'll be home every night."

"You _will_?"

Sam was only used to the hunts that took his brother and guardian away from him for several nights in a row, and hadn't ever become accustomed to a hunt that would be practically next door to him.

"Yeah," Dean said, as he accepted the food that Caleb laid down in front of him. "It's like, two towns over."

"Oh. What are you going after?"

"We're not sure—probably a spirit," Dean said.

"And how do you get rid of a spirit, Sam?" Caleb asked, as he poured Sam some juice.

"Um," Sam said thoughtfully, trying to remember the universal rule that hunters followed when ridding a place of a spirit. "You dig 'em up and then you pour nasty oil on them," he said, sticking his tongue out, "and then you salt and burn them."

Caleb nodded, grinning. "Good job, dude."

When Sam had stumbled upon the truth, Caleb had started the initial process of training Sam in much the same way he had originally started working with Dean.

Being younger, and his body more fragile, Caleb had to be careful with how much he put Sam through, and he realized that, as he instantly switched from one mode of training with Dean, one that he could handle, and the easier, more relaxed routine he had with Sam.

"Can I come?"

"Right now, we don't know what we'll be dealing with," Caleb said delicately, "and so I think for this one, it might be better if you sit this one out."

That did _not _sit well with Sam, who was still struggling with his own feelings about Jim's death, and was more needy as a result, more sensitive than he normally was.

"But I want to go," Sam pouted.

That was the secret weapon he used when things weren't going his way, and for the most it didn't work. The adults had long since grown used to those little games, and were better at deflecting it when it popped up.

"I know," Caleb said calmly, as he served Sam his food. "But right now, my goal is to keep you two safe, and right now, the safest place for you, will be here with Bobby."

"But you let me go on spirit hunts _before_."

"I know, but that was when I _knew _what we were up against. I'm pretty sure I know what it is, but I don't want any chances taken."

"What if the spirit hurts you two?"

Ever since Jim had died, things that hadn't normally bothered Sam, had started bothering him. Being separated from Caleb and Dean was one of them. Especially if it was for a potentially deadly hunt that had an unpredictable outcome.

"It won't," Dean reassured him. "We'll get out if it starts looking like that."

"That's right," Caleb said, squeezing Sam's shoulder. "And we'll be home tonight."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

><p>Going on the hunt, was something that Dean was excited about. Since Jim's funeral, he hadn't had much of a chance to leave the house. He and Sam were being kept home from school for safety reasons, and for the most part, they had hunkered down in the house.<p>

But being outside, being in the car for an extended period of time with Caleb, was something that he hadn't even realized he had been craving, as he glanced down at the meticulously prepared notes that Caleb had handed him.

Their information was scarce—two kids had been found murdered in a locked room that had been bolted from the inside. Only two creatures could cause something like that, and they were a werewolf, which didn't fit the correct lunar cycle, and a spirit, which was their more likely culprit.

"Are you excited to be out of the house?" Caleb asked, glancing over at Dean as they neared the town they would be investigating.

"Yeah, it feels good."

"I bet."

"Are we not going back to school?"

Dean and Sam had never voiced those questions before, but when Caleb and Bobby had kept the boys home for an extended period of time, they had started growing suspicious.

"Right now, that's up in the air. I have reservations about sending you boys back, because of what happened to Jim."

"Why?"

"Because your school is supposed to be built on hallowed ground, and if the demon could get into Jim's church-"

"Then it could get into a school," Dean surmised. "Yeah, I get it now."

Even though it sucked that he might not get to see his friends as much as he wanted to now, it beat becoming a possible target of more demons, and putting his friends and teacher in danger.

"It's not a sure thing right now," Caleb assured him. "Especially since Bobby has to leave soon."

"Right."

Having Bobby there to protect the boys while he worked, would only be a temporary fix, and Caleb knew that. After he left, was faced with the option of either leaving the boys home alone all day, or sending them back to school.

It was a confusing and trying situation, and Caleb was torn about what to do. How best to protect them, whether it was sending them to school, or leaving them home alone and creating an even bigger chance of them being taken.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean was nervous; this would be the first hunt he would go on since Jim's death, and while he was excited about leaving his home and town for the day, he couldn't entirely escape the familiar feelings of anxiety that always accompanied a hunt.

It was a nervous sort of excitement for the upcoming case, and what their results would yield. So far, their information was scarce—two girls had been found murdered in their home. No suspects, and the police were baffled as to who or _what _could have caused it.

Of course, Caleb and Dean knew more than the average person or cop, and would be able to decipher things much clearer than a fed would be able to.

Strangest of all about this case, and the one thing that had alerted Dean to it? Their hearts had been ripped clean from their chests, and the room they had been found in, had been locked from the inside. The police had had to break it down to even get inside, and when they had, they had stumbled across the grisly sight.

"Dean," Caleb said, as they pulled into the county medical examiner's office. "Are you doing okay?"

"Hmm?" Dean said, breaking out of his jumbled thoughts, as he glanced at Caleb. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Dean said, as he cupped his hand under his chin. "It's just those same feelings are coming back."

"Nervous?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to go in with me or wait in the car?"

"Go in with you."

Neither of the boys like to be separated from Caleb or Bobby, and Dean would feel a lot safer traveling into the dark and depressing morgue with him, than staying exposed in the car.

"Alright," Caleb said, as he stopped the car and prepared to get out. "You know you can't go in the room with me, right?"

Dean nodded; he had guessed as much.

No one in a position of authority would allow a minor into those rooms where the bodies were observed, and Dean was sort of glad. He had his entire life to be involved in that part of that life, and for the time being, he could wait until he had been trained properly.

"So after you get out?"

"After we leave, we'll go get some lunch and see if we can scrounge anything else up."

"Sounds good."

The air was frigidly cold with the approaching spring weather, as the two of them hurried into the small front reception area. There was only a limited number of seats to choose from, no doubt it wasn't a popular place to visit.

Instead of sitting, Dean chose to lean against the far wall, as he quietly observed Caleb smoothly strike up a conversation with the lone receptionist there. It was fascinating, watching Caleb weave an expertly crafted lie about why he was there, and the urgent need to view the bodies of the deceased sisters.

Dean couldn't wait to start training for that, but that would have to wait a few more years until he could pull of the appearance of an adult, even if he really wasn't one quite yet.

"I'll be right back," Caleb said, coming up to Dean. "Stay right here."

"I know."

"Okay, and if anything happens-"

"I'll get back where you are."

"Right."

Not that Caleb thought the demon or _demons _would be stupid enough to strike now, but he had no idea what their limits were anymore, and just wanted to make sure that Dean was clear on the plan they had long ago formulated.

While he waited for Caleb, Dean took the time to peruse the limited reading material they had stocked up on. Most of it was outdated magazines, and informational pamphlets about the place, and what services they claimed to offer, and those didn't hold much interest for Dean.

Finally finding, to his amusement, a _Playboy _that a customer must have left behind, he decided to leaf through that while he waited. Even though the photo spreads inside, caught his attention, he wasn't entirely paying attention to them, either, as he listened for Caleb, who was in the back area of the place viewing the body.

"Career day?" the receptionist asked, as she glanced over at Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said, throwing her a careless smile.

"Your Dad a fed?"

No doubt, she had caught the drift when Caleb had flashed his fake FBI ID to her, upon first meeting her.

"Yeah."

He wouldn't bother telling her that Caleb really wasn't his _dad_, even though he was the closest thing he had to a real father. Instead, he bowed his head to continue reading, hoping that the girl would get the message and leave him alone to wait.

"Do you want to be one?"

Apparently not.

"Definitely," Dean replied.

"It sounds so _scary_."

"It is, but it's also fun sometimes."

And dangerous.

And deadly.

And full of the kinds of monsters and ghosts that people only _dreamed _about in their worst nightmares. If there was ever one perk of the job, it was that it _did _offer some thrills and excitement that he normally wouldn't have gotten anywhere else.

"Do you do any work?"

"No, too young."

Duh.

"Oh, I see."

He was saved the task of responding further to her, when Caleb came out from the back. It was clear that he had found some things out, but obviously couldn't divulge _what _in the company of the overbearing receptionist.

* * *

><p>Grateful to get out of there, he and Caleb next scouted out a suitable place to have lunch. In a small town like that, their options were limited, if they wanted to eat and be guaranteed some privacy.<p>

Finally settling on a diner that seemed to have a sizable lunch menu, they waited until the hot waitress was well out of earshot before Dean leaned foreword, intent on talking the case right down to the most ridiculous of detail.

"Okay, so what happened back there?" He asked, pausing to take a sip out of his refreshing iced water.

"Well," Caleb said with a sigh, "the vic's were in the exact same shape that the paper reported. Hearts were ripped clean from their chests, and cops have no leads so far."

"Yeah, I mean, what psycho can do a heart transplant like that, and then magically lock the door from the inside?"

"Exactly, and there's no forensics for them to fall back on, either."

"So what's our next lead?" Dean asked, as he paused their conversation when the waitress laid their food down.

"I got the address of the parents from the forensics guy."

"So we're going there?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah."

"Can I go in?"

"If we get really creative, yeah."


	11. Chapter 11

"Remember the plan?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, as he stared out the window at the huge Victorian-style mansion as it loomed before them.

This was a first for Dean, and he tried to quell the anxious stuttering of his heart. Because of his age and appearance, he couldn't successfully pull off the appearance of an adult, and so being included in the interviewing aspect of hunting, had had to wait until now.

Now Caleb had figured out a believable cover story for him that would corroborate why he was there, interviewing the parents of the deceased girls. It was a fascinating new experience for Dean, but also a hard one, because he, above everyone else, knew what these people must be going through, and he could most certainly relate.

"Okay. For the most part," Caleb said, as he stopped the car and prepared to get out. "I want you to observe, but if you think you should, you can also ask some questions."

"Got it."

The less he asked, the better. At thirteen, he was involved in many different aspects of his guardian's hunting lives, but he had never stepped foot into this part of it before, and because of that, the less he brought attention to himself, the better.

As they stepped out into the harsh March weather, Dean reflexively wrapped his arms around himself to keep himself warm, as he and Caleb walked side by side up the cracked, aging stone steps and to the elaborate Oak front door, which bore not a door handle, but a carved lion head knocker.

Trading dubious glances with each other, Caleb paused before raising his hand and using the knocker to knock on the door. It had been awhile since he had had the pleasure of interviewing someone on the richer part of the neighborhood.

"That thing is creepy," Dean remarked, as he stared at the lion head which seemed to have the kind of lifelike eyes that stared right into your soul.

It made him the slightest bit uncomfortable, as though it really _was_ looking at him. Dropping his head, he strained his ears to hear whether he could decipher any sounds from the inside.

"Yeah, it is," Caleb agreed. "Some houses like these, they have talismans to protect them from curses or different kinds of evil."

"So maybe these freaks-"

"Dean," Caleb warned.

"Sorry," Dean said, with a chuckle. "So maybe these _people_," he emphasized, "know something happened to their kids?"

"Could be," Caleb said, clamping his hand down on Dean's shoulder. "I would if something happened to your your brother."

"Yeah, but you know more than them," Dean pointed out.

"True."

In general, hunters and especially Caleb, had never believed in talismans and what they claimed to do for people. Mostly, he considered them to be a superstition and nothing else.

They were distracted from further conversation when the door swung open unexpectedly. A balding man in his early to mid forties, was standing there, staring at them expectantly.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes," Caleb said, stepping closer, hoping that the man would feel inclined to invite them in. "My name is Josh Young, and this is my son, Dean. I'm a grief counselor up at the school, and we were wondering if we could maybe offer our support during this time."

The man seemed to consider what Caleb was saying, as his eyes momentarily filled with tears before he pushed them back with a shake.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on in."

Throwing Dean an exultant look, Caleb and Dean followed them man inside the impressive foyer before he veered off into the equally impressive and grand sitting room.

Taking a seat on a royal red chaise, Dean and Caleb watched as the man took a seat across from them on the sofa.

"Is your wife around?" Caleb asked.

"No, no, she's upstairs resting right now. She hasn't been feeling too well."

"That's understandable, and we are so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. I don't think I introduced myself. I'm Richard."

"It's nice to meet you," Caleb said calmly.

"So you're a grief counselor?"

"Yes."

"And you," he said, turning his attention to Dean. "You went to school with Ashley and Jessica?"

"Yes," Dean said, doing his best to look the grieving man in the eye, even though he felt horrible for lying to him when he was already so crushed. "I did."

"Did you know them _well_?"

"In passing, we had some friends we shared in common."

"It's just," Richard sighed deeply. "You think your kids will bury _you_. You never think that you'd end up burying your own kids!"

"We're very sorry," Caleb said. "I'm sorry to ask, but they were found in a _locked _room?"

"Yes. In their upstairs bathroom. It had a lock on it, and when the police couldn't get in, they had to break it down."

"Right," Caleb said, "and what did they say _happened_?"

"They don't know," Richard said with a shrug. "They're as baffled as we are."

"Any forensic evidence?" Dean asked, venturing into delicate territory, as he carefully felt his way around the conversation and where it would lead.

"Besides my daughters' _blood_?" Richard asked pointedly. "No, not really."

"What does _not really _mean?" Caleb asked, sensing the man's evasive answer.

"They don't know what it means yet—probably nothing, but they found a print in the blood."

"What kind of print?"

"I don't know. They're trying to analyze it still."

_That _was interesting—a print would possibly narrow down their search if they could figure out _who _or _what _it came from. If it was an animal print, if it was a human one. It would solve a lot of questions they had, and possibly solve the case.

Realizing that they wouldn't get anymore answers out of the man about the death of his daughters, Caleb next decided to quiz him on the history of the house, trying to see if something _in _the house could have caused something to happen.

"This house, it's so beautiful," Caleb said, smoothly changing the subject, as he glanced around the beautiful surroundings.

"Thank you."

"How long have you had it?" Dean asked, following Caleb's subject trail.

"Centuries—it was our earliest ancestor's home, and it's been passed down through the generations."

"Oh, really?"

Old homes like that, could often contain spirits, especially if someone in the family had died in the home, or even a previous owner that had no relation to this family.

"Yes."

"So," Caleb said, "you must have some problems with it sometimes. Flickering lights, cold spots, that kind of thing?"

"No," Richard shrugged. "Not really."

"Oh?"

"We haven't had a lot of problems. We've actually been lucky in that area."

"Right."

"Well," Caleb said, beginning to stand up. "You know, we could really use your bathroom, if that's okay?"

"Yeah, of course. Down the hall and to the right."

"Thank you," Caleb said, as he and Dean carefully made their way into the hall. "Come on," Caleb whispered, as he and Dean turned sharply up the impressive staircase, intent on investigating the bathroom where the girls had been found.

"What are we looking for?" Dean whispered, as he and Caleb found the correct bedroom and adjoining bathroom.

"Anything that will fit the pieces of the puzzle a _little _closer together."

Caleb had been doing this for almost twenty years—he knew the correct steps without even thinking about it most of the time, and it was nice to be able to spend quality time with Dean and teach him everything that he knew.

And for the most part, Dean had proved to be an excellent student.

"Do you want the EMF?"

"Yeah," Caleb said, as he carefully stepped over the police tape. "Turn it on, and hold it out like I taught you."

"Okay."

Reaching into the bag they had brought with them, Dean produced the device that was capable of detecting paranormal energy, and turned it on.

Slowly waving it around the room, Dean watched for any signs that it had picked something up, but so far the device remained silent.

"Nothing?" Caleb asked, as he bent down to inspect something of interest on the tile floor.

"No."

"Keep moving it around—you never know when it could pick something up."

"Okay."

Dean carefully chose his steps as he brought the EMF around the room, but nothing was ever picked up. Finally giving up, he put it back in the bag, as he turned to see what Caleb was doing.

"It didn't pick up on anything?"

Dean shook his head, as he dropped to one knee beside him. "Nada. What about you?"

"I found that print Richard was talking about."

"You did?"

Caleb nodded, as he moved so Dean could see it. "See that? What could make something like _that_?"

The print was large—possibly an animal one, but it had been smudged by the blood and police trampling all over it. From Caleb's best guess, it was animal, possibly a larger one like a wolf or something else big.

"What do you think it is?"

"Animal."


	12. Chapter 12

"Relieved to be going home?" Caleb asked, as he and Dean completed the last stage of the drive back to their own hometown.

"Yeah," Dean said, as he settled back against the leather anterior of Caleb's car.

The case had been long—first stop had been the county morgue to examine the victim's, and then on to the girls' home to interview their traumatized father and get a better idea of what they were dealing with, with a quick trip upstairs to where the murder had taken place.

"What do you think about that paw print?"

"I don't know," Dean said, shaking his head with a scoff.

At the center of their investigation, was a print that had been found among the blood and gore in the bathroom. The police were baffled, and had no leads as to what could have caused that, and if it was the thing that had murdered two innocent girls.

From Caleb's best estimation, it was an animal of some sort. Whether it had acted alone, or it had been controlled by something, was still up for debate. For the time being, he was focusing solely on getting them home safely.

The case had taken the entire day to complete—and they still had to make the trip back in the morning, but in the meantime, he was intent on getting a full night's rest, and pick it up again the next day.

"It could be an animal," Caleb said, as he turned off the highway that was conveniently situated right near their neighborhood. "Or it could be something that a spirit is manifesting."

"Can a spirit do that?" Dean asked, turning his head to the side to look at his guardian.

From what _he _knew to be true, spirits only inhabited the places they had become stuck in after refusing to cross over. They became vengeful and then the pattern was typically always the same, as they moved around the place they had become stuck in, murdering whoever tried to enter it, and always leaving a trail of carnage behind.

"Sometimes. In certain cases, they can possess objects or people, sometimes, or even animals, I guess."

"I didn't know that."

"It's rare," Caleb said, looking at him with the limited amount of sunset light they had left. "I've only run into something like that, like, _twice _ever."

"Oh. What do you think Sammy's doing right now?"

Dean had been anxious to return home and make sure his little brother was still okay. Not that he had any real worries with Bobby managing the helm, but it still bothered him to leave Sam for extended periods of time like he had done that day.

"Well," Caleb said, as he glanced at the lit clock on the radio. "It's about seven right now, so he and Bobby are probably in the kitchen, and they're stuffing their faces while we're the ones who have been working all day."

"Yeah," Dean said with a rare smile. "That sounds about right."

"Well, we'll be sure to bore them all with _every single _detail of the case," Caleb said, smiling.

"Yeah, but Sam will probably eat it up. He loves hearing that stuff," Dean noted, as they finally pulled into their neighborhood.

Even though sometimes he had longed to escape it just for a day, it still was always a relief to come back to it after a job or school, where he could go to the peaceful sanctuary of his own room, and just chill for awhile.

"True," Caleb said, as they pulled into their garage, which seemed to double as a storage bin. "We have to do something about this garage."

Most of their hunting gear and the boys' stuff had somehow found their way into the inner parts of the garage. The basement and other rooms in the house, were off limits, and the only place to store those things, had been in the garage.

"Yeah, I know," Dean said, as he took in the massive sight in front of him. "But later, right?"

"Yeah, of course."

Both of them were too exhausted to contemplate doing a garage renovation. That would have to wait until they were rested enough, and had recovered from their first day of hunting.

"When do you want to go back?"

"Tomorrow—early."

"Cool."

Even though they had made significant headway already, they still had to pinpoint what the print meant, and how it was connected to the brutal killings that had taken place at the family's ancestral home.

Predictably when they walked through the door, Sam was _thrilled_ to see them. Running from his place at the table, to meet Caleb and his big brother, he all but jumped into his guardian's arms, so glad to have them back safely.

"Were you good for Bobby, sport?" Caleb asked, as he gave Sam a tight hug before setting him back down, and ushering him back to his place.

"Yes-"

"No," Bobby interjected, with a wry smile, showing he was only teasing. "He was absolutely _terrible_."

"_Sam"_ Caleb said, feigning outrage. "You know the rules, right? To _always _listen to Uncle Bobby?"

"Y-yes," Sam said, between giggles, as Caleb leaned over his chair, tickling his sides. "I did! I did! I p-promise!"

"I don't know, Dean," Caleb said, trading glances with Dean. "Do you think we should let him slide?"

"Definitely..._maybe. _If he agrees I'm the _best _big brother _ever_."

"Alright, Sam," Caleb said with a grin. "You heard him."

"Fine!" Sam yelled between laughs. "Dean is the best brother ever!"

"Thank you," Dean said, looking victorious.

Dinner was a rambunctious affair—Sam, exultant at having the rest of his family back, happily chattered about the events of his day, and what adventures he had had outside when Bobby had allowed him out, and the little friend he had adopted.

"You brought in a _what_?" Dean asked, slowly raising his fork to his mouth.

"A worm," Sam said, with a shrug, as his legs absently kicked the table while he ate. "Ants were about to eat him, and I rescued him."

"Where is it now?" Caleb asked, trading stunned looks with Dean.

"In my room in a box. Can I keep him?"

"Um..."

"Please?"

"I...guess," Caleb said finally, seeing no harm in allowing Sam to keep his disgusting new pet. "Don't be surprised, though if it-"

"Croaks," Dean filled in, when it was obvious Caleb was trying to figure out how to phrase it.

"I know," Sam said simply. "Bugs die, but he's good company for now."

"True," Caleb conceded.

"So," Bobby said, as they began to clear away the dishes. "How was the job?"

"Long," Caleb said, as he started the mundane task of loading the dishwasher. "But we managed to get some information, didn't we?" he said, looking over at Dean, who nodded.

"What kind of information?"

"The morgue didn't really reveal anything we didn't already know," Caleb said. "After that, we talked to the girls' father."

"And what happened there?"

"There was this _really _creepy knocker," Dean said, recalling how perfectly lifelike the lion head knocker had been, when they had first stumbled upon it while waiting to meet the father.

"At the house?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah," Caleb said, "it was shaped like a lion's head, and it had these weird eyes that seemed really _real_. It was pretty bizarre."

"Could be a talisman, something to ward off evil," Bobby said thoughtfully.

"That's what I was thinking."

"Or maybe it's something a little more personal."

"What do you mean?"

"How much do you know about the house before the people moved in?"

"Not much. It was ancestral, it's been in the family for generations."

"Well, it's just," Bobby said, "sometimes when a relative dies, they choose something that signifies their lost relative. Maybe the lion head knocker has something to do with that house itself."

"Or what happened _in _it," Dean ventured. "Wow."

"So I guess we have to go to the library, see if we can dig up some old archives to do with the house," Caleb said, looking at Dean. "And then we can go back and see if we can match it all up."

"Can I go?" Sam asked, looking hopefully at his brother and Caleb.

"Yeah," Caleb said, "we'll go the library here in town, and then we'll drop you back off."

Caleb knew Sam needed to spend a little time with his family, especially since he and Dean had been gone all day, and was willing to accommodate him.

"Thanks!"

"You bet."

Just as they were about to head out of the kitchen in pursuit of some evening activities before bed, a picture that had been stamped to the fridge, suddenly dropped down without warning or explanation.

Giving Dean a look, Caleb bent down to pick it up. It was a picture of Caleb, Jim, Dean and Sam. It had been taken right after Caleb had gotten home from being gone for three months, and the looks of pure joy and bliss, was apparent on all their faces.

It was a good time—a _happy _time.

"Look at this," Caleb said, showing the picture to Dean.

"Oh, yeah," Dean said, carefully taking the picture, and staring down at the captured moment. "I remember that, too."

"Right after I got home from the detention center, and I saw you guys," Caleb said, smiling at the memory, as he laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, sensing that seeing memories of Jim like that, was still hard.

"You know," Dean said, as he tore his eyes away from the image and put it back on the fridge. "That was one of the _worst _times that I can _ever _remember going through."

When Caleb had been arrested the year before, for murder and a stack of fraud charges had been brought against him, the proceedings had resulted in him being taken away from the boys, for nearly three months while his trial had gone on.

"I remember that."

It was hard _not _to remember—it had been a trying few months for everyone involved.

"And I was _so _angry," Dean recalled, as he took a seat at the table to stop his frantic pacing that he did whenever something uncomfortable came up. "But he was there for me. He put up with all of my crazy moods, and did his best to make sure _I_ was okay."

Caleb nodded. "I remember us having discussions about you. You wanted to see me so desperately, but we both agreed that it was best if we waited on that. And aren't you glad that we did in the end?"

"Yeah," Dean admitted.

Instead of seeing Caleb in jail, he had gotten the sweetest surprise of his life when he had walked in the door, and had seen him right after he had been acquitted.

"He really was looking out for you."

"Regardless of if I gave him hell for it," Dean said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Well, he knew it was the best thing for you right then, and it's typical of all kids. They don't understand _why _you're making the decisions you are, but you do and it doesn't mean you have to explain it, either, but you never stop loving them, no matter what hell they put you through," he said, smiling at Dean.

"I've been okay."

"Yeah, you both have so far."

"Well, I don't know about Sam," Dean said with a laugh.

"Yeah, your brother is another story. He has a more rebellious personality, but even if he doesn't understand why, we're doing it out of love."

"Yeah."

"So," Caleb said, "ready to go kick back until bed?"

"You bet."


	13. Chapter 13

Caleb hated to wake Dean—the kid had gone to bed late the previous night after they had stayed up later watching movies, and spending some quality time with Sam, who had felt just the slightest bit abandoned by his younger guardian and brother.

Because of that, they had all gone to bed much later than they probably should have, and now they were paying the price. Insomnia was always a risk, especially when you hunted and had uneven sleeping hours. It was something that Caleb had struggled with, and it was something that Dean was now learning, as he slept soundly upstairs.

Walking up the staircase, he paused outside Dean's door, wondering if he should wake him so early. The boys were used to early wake up calls when school was in session for them, but since the guys had yanked them out for their own safety, they had enjoyed the rare opportunity to sleep in and enjoy unlimited amount of down time.

Walking into the typically messy room, he crept over to Dean's still form, and laid a hand on his shoulder. He barely stirred, just rolled over a little in his sleep, as he reflexively drew the covers over himself, shielding him from the outside cold and intrusions.

"Dean," Caleb whispered, gently shaking his shoulder to rouse him from his deep slumber. "Come on, kiddo, time to wake up."

As predicted, Dean instantly rebelled against the rude awakening, as he faced away from Caleb and pulled the covers up over himself again. "No," he mumbled. "Tired."

"I know," Caleb said softly, as he turned the light on beside his bed, hoping that the sudden change would propel him further into consciousness. "But we have to go right now."

Opening one eye blearily, Dean glanced over at Caleb. _"Why?_ What time is it?"

"Almost eight. I let you sleep in almost an _hour_ past the time we were supposed to go."

Groaning, Dean dropped his head back on his pillow, as his mind struggled to catch up to his body, and what it was telling him to do. It had always been hard to force himself to wake for school, and now that he was on a job and having to wake early again, it was difficult to get used to the rough transition.

"Where are we going?"

Even though he knew the facts of the case by heart since _he _was the one who had originally found it, his brain was still a little fuzzy, and needed a refreshment.

"The library, and then back into that town to see if we can dig up more about this thing."

"And hopefully solve it, right?" Dean said, as he struggled to a seated position, as he palmed his face tiredly with his hand, as he dragged the nearest set of clothes toward him.

"If we can. Bobby gave us a good set of tips to follow up on."

When they had confided in Bobby the details of the case, and in particular, the odd lion head door knocker, he had suggested they shift their focus from the murder victims at the center of the investigation, and instead focus on the house itself, and what secrets it had stored inside its massive walls. It had been an ingenious idea, and something that they were aiming to do today, as they headed for the local library, intent on brushing up on their research, before going back to that town to search around some more.

"Right," Dean said, as he shakily rose to his feet, and went over to his closet to retrieve a good sweatshirt to combat the frigid temperatures he knew to expect from the rough spring they had been having. "So what if it's a spirit?"

"Then the usual drill."

"What if it's an animal _possessed _by a spirit?"

None of them had ever come up against something like that, and the more Dean considered it, the more it seemed too far-fetched. Even for them. But it was a possibility they either had to rule out conclusively, or delve deeper into that outrageous theory.

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Caleb said, thoughtfully. "Or call up the local zoo and ask why they aren't keeping better track of their animals."

Dean cracked a smile, it felt nice. "Is Sam going?" he asked, as he prepared a small bag of essentials for the short journey they would take that day.

"No," Caleb said with a laugh. "I went in there and asked, and his exact response: "Leave me alone, I'm sleeping."

"Sounds about right," Dean said with a wry smile.

"Tell me all about it. The kid practically shoved me out the door."

It was a running joke in the family. Sam was usually a very bright and cheerful kid, but when you threw him into a morning routine, he became sullen and disgruntled as his little body struggled to fully adjust to the waking world after a full night's rest.

"Awesome."

"I made some food for Bobby to give to Sam," Caleb said, as they began walking down the stairs. "But do you want to eat now or later?"

"Depends—what did you make?"

"French Toast," Caleb said, raising an eyebrow, knowing how much Dean favored that particular breakfast dish.

"I'll eat now."

"I thought so," Caleb said with a laugh. "Hurry it up, though."

"I know."

* * *

><p>Walking into the local library, Dean and Caleb immediately made a beeline for the back section of the library, which housed all the public records and documentation related to the town, and the citizens in it.<p>

Once they had (reluctantly) acquired help from a helpful employee, they set to work on the enormous task before them, as they set out their bountiful research on a few tables that had been pushed together to make more room.

"Alright," Caleb said, as he sorted through the wealth of information they had suddenly received. "Look for anything to do with any deaths or disappearances."

"Okay."

It was slow, arduous work. Each case was either completely unrelated to the one they were dealing with now, or the facts didn't match up all the way. Dean knew this part of the job to be boring, and he tried his best to hold in his frustrations, as he sorted through some more paperwork.

"Find anything?" Caleb asked, glancing up at Dean, a short time later.

"Nope."

"I think _I _did."

Relieved, Dean leaned foreword, as he looked down at the article in question. "What is it?"

"Back in the early 1900s, when the house was first built," Caleb said, as he gazed down at the paper. "A wealthy family moved into it. The husband was a lawyer, he had an excellent reputation in the community, and a family to show around town."

"Right," Dean said slowly, "so how does that tie into what _we're _looking into?"

"The husband," Caleb said, giving him a wry look, "had a _wandering _eye, and cheated on the wife. Back then, those issues were kept behind closed doors, but the wife was devastated, and asked _him _for a divorce. He obliged, and then came the issue of who would get custody of their daughter."

"Who did?"

"Since the father was so well known in the community, he was able to pull a few strings, and get custody of their daughter. There was nothing she could do, especially when he made it seem like _she _was the one who had been unfaithful."

"Right..."

"The mistress of the guy, she was insanely jealous of anyone who claimed his affections over her. Even his own kid, apparently."

"Are you kidding?" Dean said, catching onto what he was trying to say, and not entirely believing it himself.

"Well," Caleb said, grimacing. "When she saw how much the father doted on his little girl, she became enraged, and killed her."

"In the house?" Dean asked, feeling sick to his stomach, as he glanced up at Caleb.

"Yeah—in the same bathroom where the girls were found."

"She," Dean said with a noticeable gulp, "did to the girl what happened to the other victims in _this _case?"

"Yeah," Caleb said, bowing his head to research further. "After the husband discovered her betrayal, he had her arrested, and the woman was put to death. As a memorial to his now deceased daughter, he wanted to put something of _hers _on the house."

"You mean the-"

"Her favorite animal was a lion," Caleb said carefully, "and so as a tribute to her, he had a lion head knocker put on the front door. Partly as a good luck charm against any approaching evil, and partly as a reminder of the evil that came through those doors."

"And those people were ancestors of-"

"Of the people that live there now," Caleb finished.

"Was the daughter buried?" Dean asked, already itching to go to the burial site and finish the case.

"Yeah. We'll go there, but first we have to go by the house."

"And do what?"

"Destroy the knocker, and then go burn the bones."

"That will go off well," Dean said, shaking his head.

"At least they'll be alive."


	14. Chapter 14

"What are we going to say to him?" Dean asked, as they crossed through the relatively small town of Imogene, where the murders had taken place. "Just tell him the truth? Or what?"

"Well," Caleb said, "it might be the only way to get through to him. The police can't solve it, the town thinks that a crazy ax murderer is on the loose, so really, what _else _is he going to believe?"

It was rare in their line of work that they could walk up to someone, and spout out the truth to them. Usually, their work involved a lot of lying, and a lot of trickery in order to accomplish the goal and save the lives that didn't even _realize _they needed saving.

"True, but how do you think he'll react to us telling him that we have to destroy that creepy ass knocker?"

"The way I see it," Caleb said, as he turned smoothly onto the right neighborhood street, which was full of similar Victorian-style mansions. "The poor guy has two choices. Either he listens to us, and lets us do our work, _or _we can leave, and the same exact thing will happen to _him._ His call."

"I guess."

Even though it was impossible to save _everyone_, Dean wanted to believe that they could, that they could get through to this grief-ridden father, and save him and any other future generations from the same, ugly fate.

"It will be fine," Caleb said, glancing over at him briefly. "We'll do what we can, and be okay with that."

"Okay."

When they pulled up along the curb of the house, their way was almost blocked off by the procession of police cars and crime scene tape that barred their way onto the property.

"What the hell?" Dean whispered to Caleb, as they hesitantly got out of their car, and made their way over to the neighbors congregated there.

"I don't know."

His best guess was that something had gotten one of the other people living in the house—and from the looks of it, it hadn't been pretty. A gurney carrying the human remains that had been found in the house, rolled past them, as crime scene investigators rolled it into a van for further inspection at the crime lab.

Spotting someone who appeared to be a neighbor, Caleb and Dean immediately made their way over to where she was standing, being careful not to step over the police tape and warrant unwanted attention.

"Excuse us," Caleb said, approaching the woman directly. "We were just wondering what happened here."

After all, it hadn't been more than twelve hours since he had last been to the house, and everything had seemed fine. The man was traumatized by the unexplained deaths of his daughters, but physically he had assumed he was fine.

Of course, it only took a second for a spirit to strike someone down, and there was no doubt in either of their minds that that's what had happened in this case.

"It was a murder," she said, shaking her head in disbelief, as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes. "I just don't get it. I've never seen a family with worse luck than this one."

"Who died?" Dean asked.

"The wife. No one else was home when she was murdered. No signs of a struggle, and the police are ruling out her husband, so far."

"Well, that's good," Caleb said. "If you don't mind me asking, how was she found? _Where _was she found?"

The spirit had so far, stuck to a pattern. Each of the victims that had been killed, had been killed in the bathroom. The same one that the spirit itself had been killed in. The devil was in the details, and each iota of information mattered.

"The upstairs bathroom," she said, casting a curious glance at them. "Why—why would that make any difference?"

"Just...curious," Dean said, trading stupefied glances with Caleb.

"Thank you," Caleb said, throwing her a grateful smile, as he and Dean walked back to their car.

"So what do you think?" Dean asked, as he leaned against the passenger side door.

"I think our friend paid this family a visit last night," Caleb replied, as his eyes scanned the chaos that had come down on a once peaceful neighborhood. "And I think we need to go talk to our guy over there."

Looking to where Caleb was pointing, Dean saw the same man that they had talked to the night before. The police had clearly just finished questioning him, and now he was sitting on the dewy grass, his head in his hands as his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"Do you want me to go, too?"

"You can if you want."

Deciding to follow him, Dean and Caleb smoothly stepped over the police tape, and made their way over to the stricken man. "Hi," Caleb said, as he bent down to converse more easily with the man.

"It's you," he said, shakily removing his hands from around his eyes, as he looked up at Caleb and Dean. "What do you want?"

"Well, I just wanted to know if you were up for answering a few questions."

"My _wife _was just _murdered_," the man said, "what do _you _think?"

"Well," Caleb said, "I happen to know what you're going through right now. I lost my wife, too, but you need to listen to me. As hard as it may be right now, you have to listen to me."

"About _what_?"

Even though the man was truly shocked to his core at the brutality in which his family had been slaughtered, he still had enough fight left in him, to meet Caleb's questions with a powerful, judgmental punch.

"Your family is _cursed_."

No beating around the bush, no time for the whole 'truth is out there' speech. It had to be done quickly, and it had to be done so the man would understand the gravity of the situation, and how serious it could get for _him_, if he didn't heed their warning.

The man stared at him for several seconds, before he laughed, although it was a somewhat hysterical laugh. "Are you _nuts_?"

"Oh, believe me, I wish I was," Caleb said, "but the facts are the facts, and you have someone haunting your family right now."

"That's crazy-"

"Any crazier than your daughters _and _wife being murdered in the _same _bathroom?" Dean asked pointedly. "The door was locked from the inside?"

"Well, yes," he admitted, but quickly regained his earlier furor. "But what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Because there's a pattern," Caleb said calmly. "The same bathroom, the same locked door, and the same bloody carnage, right?"

"Yes," he said, as fresh tears trailed down his cheeks. "How could this happen? My two babies, and now my _wife_?"

"You have to listen," Dean said, "there is something doing this, and you have to believe us so we can help you."

"How can I believe something like _that_?" he demanded. "And how could _you-"_

"How else could all this be happening?" Caleb said, trying to reason with the poor man.

"There has to be another explanation-"

"You look me in the eye," Caleb said, looking directly at the man. "And you tell me if I am lying to you right now."

It took a few seconds of the man silently contemplating the impossible situation he had suddenly found himself in, before he nodded.

"I must be crazier than you two are, but I believe you."

"Thank you."

It wasn't often that someone believed them so easily—it was only because he had seen his entire family just get murdered by a spirit and with no viable leads as to what had happened to them.

"So what's doing this?" he asked shakily, as he got to his feet.

"A spirit," Dean said.

"But _what_...spirit?" he asked with difficulty.

"About eighty or ninety years ago, when your ancestors first moved into this house, there was a lot of stuff that happened," Caleb explained, "and long story short, a little girl was murdered in this house, and ever since then, she's been going down the line and killing anyone that takes up residence in _this_ house."

"But what does that have to do with _my _family? And why now, after all this time?"

"It doesn't matter," Dean said, "spirits don't _care _if you and your family were innocent or not. All they care about is that your family is descended from the ones that _did _kill her."

"And if you know what to look for," Caleb said quietly, "you would see that there _is_ a pattern of this. Every ten years, a new string of murders happens, right on the anniversary of the _original _death."

It would be a lot for anyone to take in, but so far he had done shockingly well with the information that had been dumped on his shaken shoulders.

"What does ten years have to do-"

"It was the age of the girl that died," Dean filled in. "Every ten years, she commits a new murder."

"And next time?" Caleb said bluntly, "it could very well be you."

"So what can I do?"

"Nothing," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Except let us do what we have to do."

"And that is?"

"Destroy that knocker on your door-"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's tied to the girl," Dean said carefully, "and if we destroy it, it will make it that much easier to destroy _her_."

It was apparent the man didn't want them to continue, but out of morbid curiosity, he asked the question anyway.

"And how do you _destroy _this girl?"

"We could tell you," Caleb said, "but then _we _run the risk of _you _running to the cops about this. Need to know only," he added, when the man looked like he was about to open his mouth to argue.

"Just give us the knocker," Dean said, "and we'll take it someplace and make sure it's gone for _good_."

"Okay."

* * *

><p>Once the man had pried the culprit door knocker from its post, Caleb and Dean took the thing to the local cemetery where they would burn it along with the girl's bones that had been buried near the back of the now defunct cemetery.<p>

"When did this thing shut down?" Dean asked, as they carefully picked their way across the rough and uneven terrain to find the right grave marker for the little girl, and hopefully finish the hunt on a positive note.

"A few years ago—apparently the town thought it was a bad omen that it kept burying bodies from the same house."

"They should tear that thing down," Dean remarked.

"I agree—here," he said, bending down to inspect the name on the marker. "This is the right one."

"Mary—Alice Carpenter," Dean said, as his fingers hesitantly brushed across the cold tone. "This is it?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Let's do this, then."

It was backbreaking work, but eventually they were able to dig down far enough to reach her casket, and smash through it to expose the rotting, bone corpse underneath.

"You got it ready?" Caleb asked, as he jumped down into the damp earth in order to properly set the bones up for the burning.

Dean nodded, feeling his heart race with both anticipation and nervousness, as he handed the gas and salt down to him. "Yeah."

"Good job."

Dean watched carefully as Caleb sprinkled the gas and oil over the bones, before reaching up for the lighter, which Dean handed down to him.

"Be careful."

"You bet."

So self—assured, so _not _seemingly worried about what could happen if the wrong move was made. As Dean shone the flashlight down on the open casket so Caleb could see better, he suddenly had the strangest sensation, as though he were being watched by something.

Or _someone._

Turning around sharply, his breath caught in his throat when he didn't see anything. Normally, that would have been cause for relief, but not when he was _sure _he had felt something just seconds before that.

"Dean?"

Obviously Caleb had sensed somehow was amiss when the all too important light that Dean had been shining down on him, vanished without warning.

"Y—yeah," Dean answered shakily. "I just thought I felt something..."

"Use the salt gun," Caleb reminded him, as he finished what he was doing, and heaved himself out of the grave.

"I know-"

His speech was abruptly cut off when the spirit of the girl emerged. Angry that she was being thwarted in her plans to slaughter her ancestors until there was none left, she appeared then, angry and more vengeful than ever, as she reached out a chalk-white hand, and used it to make a grab at the thirteen-year-old.

Dean had little time to react, as he fumbled for the salt gun that he had foolishly left on the ground beside him, when he had been handing down their supplies to Caleb.

Realizing his mistake now, as the spirit painfully gripped down on his wrist with a deathlike grip. "Every last one," she rasped, before throwing him back a good two or three feet.

She was moving toward him. No doubt intent on finishing the job, before a salt round shot by Caleb, intercepted her, as she disappeared into a puff of gray and white smoke.

"Are you okay?" Caleb asked.

"I—I think so," Dean panted, as he gripped his injured wrist. "Just finish it before she comes back."

Caleb didn't need telling twice as he lit a match and threw it into the pile of bones, along with the door knocker that had started all of this. As they watched the remains catch fire, Dean couldn't help but feel a little sad for the girl who had died.

She had been ten years old—just a year older than his own brother, and because of the actions of a wicked and vain stepmother, she had met her demise much to early.

"You ready to go home?" Caleb asked.

"Yes."


	15. Chapter 15

"You tired?"

"Yeah."

"Want some breakfast?" Caleb asked, as he watched Dean come into the kitchen.

"Sure."

Throwing himself into a chair at the kitchen table, Dean scrubbed his hands over his eyes. They had gotten home late last night from the job, and while he had been exhausted from the full day of work they had completed, his body was telling him a different story, as a powerful adrenaline rush coursed through his veins.

Hunters described it as a feeling similar to being high. Your body, which had gotten used to the thrill and fear of the hunt, was still exhibiting those same feelings, even long after the job, as it tried to supplement for not being out in the field anymore.

For Dean, that feeling had been a welcome one, even as he struggled to get a decent night's sleep as a result.

It had been just over two weeks since Jim's death, and while those same feelings of anger and sadness remained, it had been nice to replace those devastating feelings with something positive, with pride and joy in a successful job, and not dwell on the fact that someone he loved like a father, wouldn't be there anymore.

Not by choice.

But out of being murdered by a demon.

It was something that Dean still struggled with, and probably _would _for awhile. While the dominant emotion he had felt immediately after the death, had been shock and devastation, now all he felt was sadness as he cupped his one hand under his chin, as he glanced over at Caleb.

If he could be grateful for one thing, it was that he still had him. Ever since he had been young, they had formed a tight bond with each other that extended to Sam as well, but with Dean and Caleb, they were able to click with each other more so than he could with anyone else, and he was glad that he had him to bring him back down to earth after a job, and could talk to about absolutely _anything _without the fear of being judged.

"Did you sleep at all?" Caleb asked, as he started getting out the eggs and bread.

"Define 'at all'," Dean said dryly.

"So, not good?"

Dean shook his head, stifling a yawn behind his hand. "Nope."

"Were you up late?"

"No, I went to bed when you did."

"Just couldn't get to sleep?"

"No."

Caleb knew what he was going through—right when _he _first started hunting, he had struggled with similar feelings of energy and excitement, and it had taken awhile before he had learned to channel it, to control it before it controlled _him._

"Is it because of the job?"

"Probably—my heart was racing, and I wanted to get up and _do _something, but there was nothing _to _do at three in the morning."

"Well, it's all about learning how to control that feeling you get," Caleb explained. "I struggled with it when I first got in the game, and it takes time, but eventually you'll get to a point where you'll have it under control."

"I hope."

Even though Dean loved being out in the field, and honing the skills that Caleb had worked so carefully with him on, he didn't like the feeling _after_, when his body was still so hyper and energetic that it felt like it could go on forever without a break.

"Did you see Sam this morning?" Caleb asked.

"No, why?"

"Just wondered. He's usually up before now."

"He stayed up late."

"Oh, did he?"

Dean nodded, as he pulled the morning paper toward him; hoping on some subconscious level, to find another case to submerge himself into.

Now that he had gotten a taste of hunting, (the first that he had had in awhile,) he wanted it to continue. Hunting provided a good distraction from all the crap that was happening in his personal life, and it gave him a good outlet for expressing the mountainous pile of anger that he had brewing inside him.

"What are you doing?" Caleb asked, as he looked over at him, as he got the rest of the breakfast stuff together.

"Nothing."

"Looking for another job?"

"Yeah." Dean admitted.

"Well, you struck gold with the last one."

Dean had managed to find the last hunt they had gone on. The first since Jim's death, and a case that had gotten both of their minds off the pressing pain of the fact that Jim wasn't around anymore.

"That's because I'm awesome," Dean said, with a rare grin.

"No shame?"

"None."

Caleb shook his head in amusement. "You're something else."

Disappointed in the fact that there appeared to be nothing of interest in the paper, he put it aside as he eagerly accepted the food that Caleb held out for him. "Thanks."

"You bet. Morning, bud," he added, when he saw Sam appear in the kitchen.

"Morning," he answered shortly.

It was obvious he was in a bad mood—Sam was _not _a morning person—and it was anyone's guess as to what kind of mood he would be in when he woke up, and clearly he was in a grumpy, rude mood.

"Sleep good?"

"No," he said, giving Caleb a withering look as though it were _his _fault.

"I'm sorry," Caleb said, not willing to call him out on his attitude _just_ yet. "You want some breakfast?"

"_Duh._ I'm hungry, that's why I came down."

"Well, I'll give you something to eat and then you can go back to bed-"

"I don't _want _to go back to bed," Sam whined, "you and Dean talk too loud."

"Dude-" Dean began, but was almost instantly cut off by Caleb.

"Sam," he said, not willing to argue with a nine-year-old. "I'm sorry that we woke you, but that does not give you an excuse to be rude-"

"I'm _not _being rude."

"Fine. Here," he said, handing him his plate.

Sam didn't say anything. He simply took his food over to the table, and sat down in a huff.

"What are you so freaked about?" Dean asked, leaning in toward his brother.

"Nothing! I'm tired!"

"Okay, Sam," Caleb said, as he took a seat across from him. "You have two choices. Either you talk to me about what's wrong, or you can go up to your room and have some quiet time until you feel better."

It was apparent Sam didn't prefer either of the options being presented. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he gulped his food down, and left the plate on the table.

"Take your plate to the sink," Caleb said carefully.

While he didn't consider himself to be strict with either of the boys, there were still rules they had to follow, and one of them was cleaning up after themselves.

"No."

"Sam-"

"I said no!"

"Dude," Dean said incredulously, as Bobby came up the stairs from the basement, no doubt having heard Sam's mini-tantrum. "Act your age."

"Shut up, Dean!"

"What's going on?" Bobby asked, as he glanced around at the war zone in front of him.

"Sam's having a meltdown," Dean said.

"I am not!"

It was obvious Sam was still furious for the bad behavior he was being called out on. When he walked past Dean's place at the table, he reached out and flipped over his cereal bowl.

"Dude!"

"That's it," Caleb said, still calm, but not willing to put up with the attitude anymore. "Please clean that up, and then go to your room. I'll be up in a minute to talk to you."

Sam knew he had done it, as he silently cleaned up the mess he had made, and the stomped upstairs to his room. The room was silent for a few minutes, as Caleb debated with himself over how best to handle the situation that had arisen.

While he knew some of it was from Sam simply being tired after having not slept, he also knew a larger part of it stemmed from the issues he had been having since Jim had died.

"What was up with that?" Bobby asked.

"Him just being a brat," Dean said, pouring himself a new bowl of cereal.

"It's not just that," Caleb said, shaking his head. "I mean, part of it is, but that's not all. He's really struggled since Jim passed away, and I don't think he knows how to act, how to behave, or even what to think about all this."

Sam had only been six months old when his mother died, and just over a year when John had died. As a result of his age, he didn't have any recollections of when his parents had died, and didn't remember the pain and confusion that his older brother had suffered from.

And more than that, he was fortunate enough to have real memories of Jim, and the good and bad times they had shared together. Losing someone that, in reality, had raised him from the time he was a year old to now, was a shock to him that he wasn't altogether sure how to process or handle.

"Are you going to talk to him?" Dean asked, watching him carefully.

"Yeah, I better."

* * *

><p>Walking up to Sam's room, Caleb paused outside his door, before going in. Sam was lying on his stomach on his bed, his eyes intently focused on the comic book in front of him, as he turned partway around to see who had come in.<p>

"Hi," he said quietly, as he flipped over on his back.

"Hey, bud," Caleb said, with a small smile. "Can I sit down?"

"I don't care."

Still testy—but not nearly as rude and belligerent as he had been downstairs.

"So things got pretty heated down there, right?"

Sam nodded, still avoiding Caleb's eyes, as he flipped through his comic book.

"Can you put the book down?"

With a sigh, Sam complied. "What?"

"Well, I want to talk about what happened down there."

"Nothing happened."

"Well, something had to have happened," Caleb said gently. "And I want to see if we can clear the air a little bit."

"I'm sorry I flipped Dean's cereal bowl," Sam said quietly, as he drew his knees up close to his chest.

"It's okay—no harm done. But I want to talk about _why _you did it."

"Because I was angry."

"That all of us were kind of telling you to stop behaving like you were?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you understand, right, that _you're _the kid and we're the adults, and sometimes we have the sucky job of punishing you."

"Yeah, I know."

"It's been hard," Caleb said, as he sat with Sam on his bed. "Without Jim, right?"

Sam nodded, chewing down on his thumb. "Yeah."

"And sometimes with these feelings that we have when someone dies, we don't know how to express them."

"Yeah."

"How have you been feeling so far?"

"I don't know," Sam said, struggling to find the right way to communicate his feelings. "Scared, I guess."

"About what?" Caleb asked gently, as he reached over to rub his shoulder.

"Of," Sam said, as a few tears slid down his cheeks. "Of the same thing happening to _you_. Or to Dean, or to Bobby."

"Listen to me," Caleb said, as he pulled Sam into a hug. "I am not going anywhere, and neither is your brother, or Bobby. This family, Sam, we're not going to be divided again. I promise."

"How can you promise that?"

"Because I can," Caleb said firmly. "You will not lose anyone else, Sammy."

Sam nodded. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being here."

"Where else would I be?"

For the past eight or so years, those boys had been his entire life, and he wouldn't have it any other way. For most hunters, it was living in motels and backwoods cabins while searching out the next case. It wasn't like that with the family they had established, and Caleb loved it.

"I'm really sorry."

"It's okay. So," Caleb said, as he got up from his place. "Do you want to go downstairs? Or do you want to sit up here for another few minutes?"

"I want to go down."

"Sounds good."


	16. Chapter 16

"Are you leaving us?" Dean asked teasingly, using a fake pout as a guilt trip to the older hunter, as he watched him pack his bags in his makeshift room down in the basement.

"Afraid so, idjit," Bobby replied, as he zipped up his bags. "Rufus doesn't know what the hell he's doing, and I got some cases lined up in the area."

"Right," Dean said, as he hung back uneasily, watching as he finished getting the rest of his things together. "So is this the last time I'll see your ugly face for awhile?" he asked, trying to inject some humor into the situation, even though he was dreading seeing Bobby walk out the door.

"You ain't that lucky," Bobby replied, punching him in the shoulder. "I'll be around, believe me."

"I know—it's just..."

"Hard seeing me go, kid?" Bobby surmised, his rugged face softening at the look on the thirteen-year-old's face.

"Yeah. At the risk of sounding like a chick, I don't really want you to go."

"I don't either. Seeing your hideous faces around everyday, has been strangely refreshing."

"Yeah," Dean said, cracking a small smile. "I'm sure seeing all the ugly ass cars day in and day out gets kind of old after awhile."

"It can," Bobby admitted. "That's why it was nice having a little break for a few weeks."

"Yeah," Dean said, as he picked up one of Bobby's bags. "Even if the circumstances were less than _ideal_."

Bobby had come to them in the midst of a crisis. Jim had just died, and Caleb had been desperate for any help in the days leading up to his funeral, and Bobby had willingly obliged, and had put his own life on hold to move in, and make sure things had settled down.

It was hard seeing him go—he had been the glue that had knitted them back together. Even if their spirits were still fractured, even if they still lived in fear of the same thing happening to them, having him there, had been a welcome reprieve, and one they had gladly welcomed in their time of need.

"I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world."

"What's in this bag?" Dean asked, weighing the bag in his hand that suddenly seemed to weigh a thousand pounds to his still developing muscles.

"I had to come prepared," Bobby said, with a sarcastic grin.

"Munition?"

"You bet."

Dean shook his head. If there was one thing his guardians would always have plenty of, it would be an impressive display of weaponry aimed at demolishing the supernatural with one shot or stab. It didn't surprise him in the least that Bobby had brought his own stash of supplies to carry him through in case of emergency.

As they walked up the stairs, Dean tried to hide his tears as he plastered a neutral expression on his face, as Bobby set the three or four bags down by the back door where he would be leaving from.

"Where's that brother of yours?"

"Out in the living room," Dean said stiffly, as he sniffled back his frayed emotions. "I think he's watching something to do with trains or or cars."

"Well, I'll go out and make sure I distract him good."

"I bet he'll _love _that," Dean said sarcastically, as he followed Bobby out into the living room.

Sure enough, Sam was lounged across the sofa, intently focused on the program playing in front of him, as he chewed absently on the popcorn he had made for himself.

"Hey, kiddo," Bobby said, blocking his view of the program, as he sat down next to Sam.

"Hi. Can you move?" Sam asked distractedly. "I've been waiting _forever _to see this."

"Sure thing," Bobby said, "but we have to talk."

"About?"

"I'm going to be shoving off pretty soon."

That got Sam's attention—he turned to look at Bobby with an expression similar to Dean's when he found out that hard truth. "When?"

"In a few minutes," Bobby admitted.

"Why?"

Sam had enjoyed having Bobby around. It wasn't often that he got to see the grizzled hunter, and he had enjoyed having him there for the time that they had had.

"I have to get back to my place," Bobby explained gently. "My friend Rufus, he wouldn't know how to manage a car if the instructions were written on his _hand_."

Sam cracked a smile.

"But he'll be back," Dean said, as he sat on the arm of the sofa. "_Right_?" he added, looking at Bobby for confirmation.

"Absolutely."

"Okay," Sam said, still looking unsure, as he lifted himself up to give him a snug hug. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Sammy."

And he would.

Those boys had quickly become the center of his world, and the thought of leaving them, tore at his heart in ways that he didn't even realize that it could. For someone who had sworn off having children, these boys were about as close to the real thing as he could possibly get.

"Are you sure you have to leave?" Caleb asked, as he came down the stairs.

"Yeah," Bobby said casually, as he shrugged on his coat. "Seeing your ugly mug has gotten old," he joked.

"Hell with you," Caleb said, shaking his head in amusement. "You're going to be around, right?"

"I wouldn't leave these two without any backup."

"And what am I?" Caleb asked incredulously. "Chopped liver?"

"Something like that."

All jokes aside, though, Caleb was freaked about him leaving. Not that taking care of the boys was a serious problem when he was by himself, but it was the harsh reality that there would be no one _but _him taking care of them full time.

Before, he had been fine with taking care of them for a few days or so when Jim had taken a trip for the church, but the reality that it would be the three of them permanently, was a scary pill to swallow.

"In all seriousness, though," Caleb said, squeezing the moisture from his eyes. "I wish we could clone you or something. One could stay here, and then the other you could go back home."

"Well, so far, we haven't discovered that technology."

"I wish," Caleb said dryly, as he pulled him into a hug. "Thank you for everything."

"Not a problem," Bobby replied gruffly. "Watch yourself, and those boys."

"You bet."

After what had happened to Jim, Caleb had gone from being a somewhat relaxed guardian, to an overprotective, paranoid one. A once secure (or so they thought) private school, was off limits until he could safely decide what course of action to take when he had to work, and letting them anywhere out of sight, was a concept he struggled with greatly.

Nothing, as long as he was in control, would happen to them. Even if the extra security measures were tough on the boys, it was the only thing that was even remotely ensuring their safety.

"I'll see you idjits later."

* * *

><p>It was hard after Bobby left. He had been the nail that had stabilized things momentarily, and while Caleb had been extremely grateful to have him there for the time that he had, he also had been realistic, and knew he would need to figure out things for himself now, and for the boys.<p>

Dean proved to be an excellent help when it came to wrangling Sam and dodging his random moods, as they eventually settled into a somewhat stable routine that was both comforting and safe to them, as they learned to lean on each other, talk through issues, and somehow fight through the moments of pain and loss that would assault them at odd times.

The pressing issue at hand, was work. Caleb had a full time job that demanded his near constant attention when he wasn't at home, and he had no idea how he was supposed to juggle that, and having the boys either return to school, or stay home alone all day.

Neither option was particularly appealing. The boys' school was built on hallowed ground, but a demon had managed to slide past a hallowed ground site when it had entered Jim's church, and had slashed his throat.

The same thing could happen to the boys, and Caleb was at a loss as to what to do to protect them best. Sometimes, talking it over with _them_ helped. Even though they were so young, they possessed an uncanny ability to understand and process everything that was going on around them, and were incredibly intuitive as to what was happening around them.

"So," Caleb said, the day after Bobby left. "What do you think about everything?"

"I don't know," Dean said, as he watched his show. "Like, what do you mean?"

"About me working and you guys going back to school?"

"Well...I don't know," Dean finally said. "What do _you _think?"

Dean missed school—he missed his friends that he had there, and he even missed some of the classes, if he was being honest with himself, but it was all about safety, and that place may not be the best place for them, and he recognized that.

"I have serious reservations about you two going back."

"Because of the demon?"

"Yeah."

The demon had seemed to disappear without a trace after it had killed Jim. Caleb and Bobby had searched for it, but had come up empty-handed, much to their concern and disappointment.

"Well," Dean said, shrugging, "I'm fine with not going back to school if you think it's best."

"I don't want to be paranoid," Caleb said, "but maybe we can try it on a trial basis, and if I see anything even _remotely _out of the ordinary, we'll pull you guys back out again."

"Alright. What about your work?"

"I can get a different position where I would be home more."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I can answer phone calls for the business from her, and send in paperwork."

"That would be nice."

"Yeah. So, if going back to school, doesn't work out, we have a plan B."

"Sounds good."

* * *

><p>The first day of school was nice—it was easy to fall back into the same routine the teachers and other faculty had there, and it had been refreshing for Dean to see his friends, and have normal interactions that were far removed from the horrors and stress at home.<p>

But even though he had been glad to get out of the house for the day, he was still relieved to be able to return to the comfort and security of _home_.

"How was it?" Caleb asked, as he watched the two ravenous boys consume the food he had laid out in front of them.

"Good," Dean said, shrugging. "Same boring classes, and same annoying teachers."

"I like my teacher," Sam said defensively. "She's nice."

"Who is she?" Dean asked curiously.

"Miss Dwyer."

"Never heard of her."

Caleb shook his head in amusement at the two of them. "So everything was fine?" he asked, looking pointedly at Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said, "all clear."

"Good."

As a precaution, Caleb had asked two of his hunter friends to patrol the area and make sure everything was on the up and up while the boys had been gone, and their reports had been the same as the boys.

Exhausted from the full day they had had, the boys retired to bed early. Caleb was glad. It gave him a chance to look up some cases that had caught his eye, and to give him some peace and quiet, as he sat at the kitchen table.

Unfortunately, his peace and quiet wasn't meant to last forever.

A sudden high-pitched scream caught his attention, and had him flying up the stairs as fast as his body would allow.


	17. Chapter 17

Heart pounding manically in his chest, Caleb took the stairs two at a time as he raced toward Sam's room, where the screams had originated from. Throwing open the first door on the right, he saw the small boy sitting ramrod straight in his bed, as his body heaved with sobs of pure terror.

"Sam," he gasped, as he dropped to his knees beside Sam's bedside. "Sammy," he said, trying to calm himself down for the child's sake. "What happened?" he asked, as he mentally checked him over for any injuries.

He seemed to be fine—physically at least.

"There—there," Sam gasped, as he hyperventilated. "There—there was—was a m—man in h—here."

"A man?" Caleb demanded, feeling his heart plummet like a stone into his stomach, as he once again did a mental re-check of the boy to make sure he was okay. "Are you sure you weren't just dreaming, Sammy?"

After all, he would have heard if someone had broken into the house. Years of hunting had given him an acute sense of hearing and sight, and he was sure that there was nothing that would be able to slip past the wall of security he had built around the boys.

"No!" Sam said, shaking his head, denying what Caleb was telling him, as he practically climbed into Caleb's lap. "No, there was a man in here!" He reiterated, looking more scared and frightened than Caleb could ever remember seeing him before.

"But, Sammy, we would have heard something-" he said, trying to reason with him.

"No! I swear!"

"Okay," Caleb said, trying to keep both himself and the child in front of him, calm. "Can you tell me what he looked like?"

"No, not really," Sam said, as though that fact frustrated him greatly. "But he was _tall_," he said, using his hand to give a visual demonstration of what the alleged intruder had looked like.

"Okay. Anything else?" Caleb asked gently.

"No."

"Well, if he was here," Caleb said, still doubting the story greatly. "Where did he come in? He couldn't have come in from downstairs, I would have heard him," he said, trying to make Sam see his point of view, that it would have been near impossible for someone to have broken in.

"No," Sam said, shaking his head vigorously. "He came in through the _window_."

That was something he _hadn't_ considered—crossing over to the window, he felt his heart make the climb from his stomach and into his throat, when he saw that the once firmly latched window, was now partway open.

And when he looked close enough, he could see a thin line of yellow sulfur that was sprinkled along the edges of the sill.

"Did you see his eyes?" Caleb asked, as he crossed back over to Sam, after shutting and locking the window again. "Or his teeth?"

"No," Sam said, as thick tears squeezed out of his eyes to travel down to his cheeks. "I only saw _him_."

"Did he speak to you?"

"Yes," Sam hiccuped. "He said my name, and then I realized what was happening, and I screamed, and he left."

"So he never said anything _but _your name?"

Sam nodded. "Yes."

"Okay," Caleb said, as he hugged him close out pure relief that he was alright, and out of wanting to comfort the horrified kid.

"I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be in this room anymore."

"I know," Caleb soothed. "Come on, let's go in my room."

As he and Sam walked out into the hallway, they were met by a half-conscious Dean, as he stood groggily in the hallway, obviously he had heard the commotion, and had come to see what was wrong.

"What's going on?" he asked, as he met Caleb's forcibly calm expression.

"A demon was in your brother's room," Caleb said.

It was terrifying to know that a demon had found its way into Sam's room, when he had safeguarded it against every possible demonic attack. Somehow the demon was able to find a way _around _the salt lines, or he had been powerful enough to walk _through _them.

That woke Dean up in a hurry, as he instantly crossed over to his brother and made sure he was okay. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine—scared, but fine."

Any emotional scars they could deal with as long as Sam was physically alright. As they walked into Caleb's bedroom and flipped on the lights, Sam instantly bundled himself up in the blankets as he looked wearily at his brother and guardian, as they went into a corner to talk.

"So what happened?" Dean asked quietly, as he rubbed the last of the tiredness away from his eyes.

"I don't know," Caleb said. "One second I was downstairs looking up a new case, and then," he said, shaking his head. "I heard him scream," he said, as hot tears brimmed the corners of his eyes.

It was horrifying to imagine what _could _have happened if he hadn't gotten there in time. For years, they had all thought of this place as a _safe _place, a place where no evil could reach them, and now something had.

"What do we do now?" Dean asked, as he glanced back at his little brother, who had curled himself up in the thick blankets.

"I don't know," Caleb said, as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "We have to call Bobby, though."

After the horror of the last hour, he was seriously considering packing the kids up and going to Sioux Falls, right then. It would be a hell of a lot safer, especially if they could be sure they wouldn't be followed.

"Yeah," Dean said, heaving a sigh. "Call him."

"I will. Sam," Caleb added, when he saw a trickle of blood on Sam's mouth. "Where did that blood come from?"

It was obvious Sam was hoping Caleb wouldn't ask that question. "When I woke up," he said, avoiding both Caleb and Dean's inquiring looks. "He was...he was...putting blood in my mouth."


	18. Chapter 18

Sam's statement was met by stunned silence from his brother and Caleb. It seemed unthinkable, _unfathomable_ to imagine that a demon had broken into their home for the sole purpose of injecting blood into his _mouth. _

Why?

What would that achieve to bleed into a nine-year-old's mouth? And what plans did the demon think he would carry out with Sam, if he was latching onto him so strongly?

And more pressing than that even: was this the same demon that had carried out the brutal murders of his mother and Jim? Each possibility seemed more and more likely, and that terrified Caleb, who had no idea how far this demon would be willing to go to sink its claws into Sam.

"A demon... bled... into your _mouth_?" Caleb asked slowly, as he locked eyes with a horrified Dean, who looked like he would be sick, as he stared at his brother incredulously.

"Yes!" Sam cried. "That's what woke me up in the first place!"

Bringing a shaking hand up to his mouth, he wiped the last of the blood from his mouth as he looked at Caleb. His eyes pleading with him to fix the problem like he had always known him to do in the most impossible of circumstances, and this time was no different.

"And then what did he do when you screamed?"

"He left."

"Through the window?"

"No," Sam said, shaking his head slowly, as his mind recalled the event with perfect clarity. "He just..._vanished_...one second he was leaning over me, and then the next second he was gone."

"But he didn't _hurt _you, right?" Dean asked, as he sat down next to his brother, and let him lean his head on his shoulder to comfort him.

It was freaking Dean out, and he wanted nothing more than to call Bobby and find out what _he_ thought of the situation that had arisen so suddenly, and in such a short amount of time. It hadn't been the first time Sam had glimpsed the demon.

Back at the Harvelles, he had seen the demon out the window while he had been playing with Jo and Dean. Now the demon was _there_, in their town, and out to get him and for what reason, Sam had no idea, and how could he?

A demon wanting to hurt him? It was completely beyond his understanding, as he leaned into his brother for the protection he thought he could offer him. And even if he couldn't, just being in the same, close vicinity as his brother and guardian, was enough to take at least some of the fear away.

"No," Sam said, shaking his head, as he lifted his head up from his brother's shoulder. "He just...did that in my mouth."

It was obvious saying the words was hard for Sam. "I don't want to be here anymore."

For nearly as long as he could remember, this house had been a safe house. It was a sanctuary, a place where he could be himself and spend time with the people that he loved, and that he knew loved him.

But ever since Jim had died, things had been different. The house that was once so happy and light, was no longer like that. For Sam, the house now carried with it, memories that he couldn't quite suppress.

The kitchen, once a place where they regularly gathered to eat, discuss and share about the day, was also the same place where Sam had last seen Jim alive, right before school, where they had shared a few laughs, and then Sam was out the door, not knowing that it would be the last time he would ever see Jim again.

And now his bedroom. A place where he used to love to retreat to read his comics and go to sleep, was now the same place where a demon had broken in, and fed him blood, an action that was completely horrific to Sam, and something that confused him greatly.

He didn't feel safe anymore.

"I know," Caleb said softly. "We'll go somewhere."

Maybe not forever—but at least until he could be sure that their once formerly safe house, would be safe again, and to make sure that no demons would try to break through their walls again.

"Where?" Dean asked.

"Bobby's, probably."

After all, it was the only safe place they could think of. In an unpredictable hunting world where alliances constantly shifted with any impending threats or offers, there were only a handful of people they could trust with their lives, Bobby and the Harvelles being two of them.

"Okay."

At least with Bobby they would be sure they would be in a safe, familiar place. Both boys had spent time there without Jim or Caleb, and both had come home with glowing reports, and faces stuffed with all the candy that he could get for the two boys he loved to give a hard time, but secretly adored.

"It will be okay," Caleb said, trying to find whatever words he could think of to comfort them, even though their situation was beyond comfort, as far as he was concerned.

"I know," Dean said, nodding.

As long as they had their family, as long as they were all alive. That was what mattered to Dean the most. They had already been through the mind-numbing pain of losing Jim, and he couldn't even comprehend the idea of losing another.

While he waited for Caleb to get off the phone with Bobby, he quietly watched his brother. Sam, for the most part, had calmed down enough to actually start to fall asleep, and he was glad. For Sam, it had all been too much to lose Jim, and then to have another nightmare piled on his small shoulders. Dean was glad that he could find a momentary reprieve from it all, even if it was in the form of sleep, as he snuggled into one of Caleb's large pillows.

"What did he say?" Dean whispered, once Caleb had hung up the phone.

"We're going to meet him in a motel about an hour outside Sioux Falls."

"Are we going to his place, though?" Dean asked.

"Yes, but he wants to make sure we're not followed there, so that's why we're meeting someplace together, and then he can make sure he's not followed to us, and then he'll have some of his guys watch his place."

Dean nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Alright."

The security measures were huge, but he guessed he shouldn't have expected anything different. They were dealing with a dangerous demon, one that had probably been responsible for the death of Jim, and probably his parents.

"So we're going to wake up Sammy, and then we're going to pack blankets, pillows, and any food that we can eat on the go."

"Okay. How far is the motel from here?"

"About four hours, give or take."

"Alright."

While Caleb got some of their food ready downstairs, Dean and Sam walked through their respective rooms, looking for anything they could take with them on the road. Their duffel bags that the guys had purchased years ago when they had started making trips to Nebraska, were now coming in handy again, with the things they wanted to take as a keepsake from home.

"Do you want to take your blanket?" Dean asked, looking at the thick Spiderman blanket that Sam had come to love, especially in frigid winters like they had been prone to having. "Or use the one we have for traveling?"

"No, I want my blanket," Sam said, as he grabbed it off the bed and put it in a pile by the door since it was too big to squeeze into the duffel.

"Okay."

For Dean, he felt the same way, as he grabbed his own blanket and pillow and placed them with Sam's. There was really nothing else to collect, except for clothes and anything they would need for entertainment purposes while on the dull drive.

Dean was exhausted—they had all been woken in the middle of the night by the demon, and now they were being forced to vacate their home and go on a middle of the night adventure to a motel.

It was rare that either of them spent time in a motel. Except for when they were on the hunt, they almost always slept in their own rooms. Sam, having just been integrated into the life, had never spent the night in a motel before, and the experience would probably be one he would never forget.

"Are you guys ready?" Caleb asked, when he saw them come downstairs with their duffels and blankets.

"Yeah," Dean said.

"I'll grab your blankets and pillows," Caleb said, as he effortlessly lifted both of them into his arms and took them out the door, and to the car.

"Thanks."

"You bet."

Dean knew Caleb well enough to know that he was only putting on an act. This whole situation had shaken him greatly. It had only been a few weeks since Jim had died, and now a demon was once again threatening their family.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked quietly, as he watched Caleb load up on some much needed coffee for the rough trip ahead.

"Are _you_?"

"Yeah."

"I'm fine. I'm just glad we're getting out of here for the time being."

"Me, too," Dean said, as Caleb pulled him tight against his side. "I call shotgun, by the way."

"You have to battle Sam for that one."

"Not a problem."

* * *

><p>And it wasn't.<p>

Sam, still craving a decent sleep, willingly took the backseat so he could stretch out over the backseat, while Dean chose to take the front seat, not believing that he would be able to sleep until they reached the motel, anyway.

"You should try to go to sleep," Caleb said, glancing over at Dean.

"I'm fine," Dean said, as he leaned back in the seat.

Even though his eyes ached from tiredness, his heart was pounding frantically in his chest. It was a physical response to all that had unfolded in the last few hours, and he doubted he would be able to achieve any lasting sleep for awhile.

"You can barely keep your eyes open," Caleb quietly argued, so they wouldn't wake Sam who was comfortably dozing in the backseat.

"I'm fine," Dean said, his voice shaking, even though he wasn't _actually _crying.

It was the combination of too many things at once. Losing Jim, going through the trauma and pain of his death and funeral, and then having Bobby leave, and now hearing that his little brother had almost been killed by the same thing that had killed Jim? It was too much.

"Yeah, right," Caleb said teasingly. "You need your rest."

"I'll get it when we get there."

It would be preferable to sleeping upright in the car, and he would be able to spend some time talking with Caleb.

"Whatever you say," Caleb said, rolling his eyes.

"Can I have some of your coffee?"

"I guess, sure."

Caleb had brought a big enough travel mug of coffee that they both could share it without them running out anytime soon.

"Thanks," Dean said, as he took a comforting sip of the searing hot liquid.

" No problem. Help me find a gas station sign," Caleb said, as they sped down the highway. "And we'll stop to refuel."

"Okay."

* * *

><p>It was almost two 'o clock in the morning by the time they reached the motel destination that Bobby had arranged for them. Checking in under false names, they walked into the cozy, small room with bleary, drowsy eyes.<p>

Caleb took one bed, while the boys shared another. It wasn't the most comfortable way to sleep, but at least they were in a position where they could sleep at _all_. Not that a motel felt particularly safe to either of them, but it was much preferable to being in their house at the moment, where the demon could come back at anytime.

Near five or six, they were awakened by the sounds of heavy knocking on the other side of the door. Jumping out of bed, Caleb grabbed his handgun, and hid it behind his back, while he stalked slowly toward the door, while the boys stayed back like they had been taught.

Easing the door open slowly, he relaxed his stance but only slightly when he saw it was only Bobby standing there, but that didn't make him let his guard down, either, as he kept a weary pose with him.

"What?" Bobby asked, catching Caleb's standoffish look.

"Here," Caleb said, handing him a silver knife.

"This is ridiculous, you idjit."

"Well, it shouldn't hurt you," Caleb said with a shrug, as he watched him carefully.

Rolling his eyes as though it were ludicrous, Bobby made a thin slice on his arm with the silver blade.

"Did I pass your test?"

"Yes."

Opening the door wider to allow him entrance, Caleb breathed a sigh of relief. "Were you followed?"

"No."

"Good."

At least they were headed in the right direction.

"You guys can follow me there?"

"Sure."

It was hard for the boys to get back on the road, but they were only an hour or so away from Sioux Falls, and would soon be able to crash again.


	19. Chapter 19

"I remember something else," Sam said quietly.

"What?" Dean asked, turning around in his seat to glance at his baby brother with the limited amount of artificial lighting they had from the outside streetlamps.

"About the demon," Sam prompted.

"And what's that?" Caleb asked, as he squinted his eyes through the thin haze of rain to make sure he was still following Bobby along the winding and chaotic highway road.

They had been driving the same stretch of road for the past forty-five minutes, and he couldn't wait until they were driving slower speeds on the regular back roads. So far, from what he had estimated, they had passed the turnoff exit they normally took to Bobby's, and was beginning to wonder if the older hunter had even planned on taking them back to his place at _all. _

"The yellow eyes. They were so bright, but they were also really dark, too."

Dean nodded, as he chewed on his thumb for something to distract himself from. "Is it the same thing you saw at Ellen and Bill's?"

"I think so."

"So you have a demon stalker?" Dean joked weakly.

It was his coping method; find humor in the most inappropriate and bizarre of situations. If he wasn't joking, he was sure he would be having a completely different reaction.

It was all too much—losing Jim, the horror of knowing that a demon serial killer was on the loose, and now losing his home to the same thing. It was all too much, and it had all happened so fast that he could feel a severe headache coming on, as he leaned against the cool window, hoping it would taper it off.

"Maybe," Sam said, his voice thick with tiredness and fear. "I don't know. Where are we going?"

Clearly, he too, had seen the odd side journey Bobby had taken them on, as he looked out the window at the indistinguishable farms and houses that rolled past them at breakneck speed.

"I don't know."

Finally, Bobby took a sharp turn and pulled off the highway. Relieved, Caleb was able to follow him easier as they drove through a small township that only seemed to have one direct way in or out, as he pulled off the main drag and into a deep country setting, complete with dirt roads and bales of hay.

The sun was just rising over the impressive horizon, when Bobby finally pulled up to a gated country-style ranch home. There wasn't anything impressive about it, other than the fact that it was so well-concealed behind a blanket of trees and forest, and would be, in essence, the perfect getaway for them to hide.

Trading confused glances with the boys, Caleb followed Bobby through the gate, and parked their cars next to each other.

"What is this place?" Caleb asked, as he got out along with the drowsy boys.

"This place," Bobby said, as he swung his keys casually around his finger, "is a hunter's dream."

"Go on."

"Iron fixtures, devil's traps in every nook and cranny."

"Wow," Dean said, wrapping his arms around each other in response to the brittle cold. "This is nice."

"It is," Bobby agreed, "and it's also _safe_."

"Why not just go to your place?" Sam asked.

In all the change that had rained down on his life, going to Bobby's would be something that he could associate with being familiar. This place, while nice and safe, was not something he had known before, and it was making him increasingly uneasy, as he clung tightly to Caleb and Dean's side.

"Because," Bobby explained, as he unlocked the front door. "My place is too familiar to the demons. My house would be the first place they would look. Here, it's someplace off the radar, someplace private and secure."

Inside, there was an open floor plan with a kitchen right off the foyer, and a living room on the opposite side. A hallway off the kitchen, led to a series of medium-sized bedrooms, and a single full bath.

It was smaller than their old house, but something that would do. Especially with the demon out there, and not knowing where it was, or when it would strike again.

"This is nice," Caleb said.

"It was built in case of emergencies like this," Bobby said.

"Wow."

It was their ideal home—secure, well protected from the outside world, and safe from any lurking demons that might want to follow them there.

"There's holy water in the pipes. You can ingest it, bathe in it, and the demons won't know until it's too late."

"Perfect," Caleb said, as he deposited their stuff by the front door. "Do you like it?" he asked, turning to the boys.

He could tell Sam was still uneasy about the whole thing, but he could also see him checking it out, exploring his new territory, as he wandered from room to room.

"Yeah," Dean said with a shrug. "As long as it's safe."

That was the single most important thing on their minds. If the house was safe, they would gladly stay in it as long as they needed to. It would be far better than risking going to Bobby's, and having a whole demon army rain down on them, and this house, which was practically _built _for something like that, would provide them with a far better security blanket.

"It is."

For their first night in the house, the boys wanted to sleep together. It wasn't surprising to either Caleb _or _Bobby, who had known them to do that in times of severe stress or upheaval, and this was one of those times, as they bundled up together in their sleeping bags on the living room floor.

"Are you sure you idjits don't want to take the bedrooms?" Bobby asked, as he checked on them one last time before going to bed.

"We're sure," Dean said, turning his head to give the grizzled hunter a grateful look. "Thanks for this."

"You bet. You boys sleep tight."

"We will."

Once Bobby left, Dean turned back on the flashlight that he had been using to read he and Sam a bedtime story. It was something funny, light, and perfect for a little light reading before shutting out the lights.

"How did the witch turn good?" Sam asked, once Dean had finished the story.

"She realized that what she was doing, was wrong, so she became good."

"Oh."

Rolling over on his back, Dean tried to calm down, tried to control the pounding of his own heart, as he glanced over at the windows one last time, to make sure they were locked properly.

They were.

The iron fixtures on the windows would prevent most demons from entering, and that was all that mattered to him, as he turned over on his side to readjust his position.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Goodnight."

"Night, Sammy."

For Dean, he slept peacefully. The events of the last several hours had completely exhausted him, and he was all but thrilled to finally crash in a decent place, and be sure they would be safe.

Sam, on the other hand, was a different story. Tossing and turning as he tried to find a comfortable position, he didn't fall asleep for awhile, and when he did, he was catapulted directly into another one of his nightmares.

"Hi, Sammy."


	20. Chapter 20

"Hi, Sammy."

"Who—who are you?"

Sam couldn't ever remember being so terrified in his entire life, as he tried every trick in the book that Dean had taught him to wake up, even though a part of him was really doubting it was a dream at _all_. The only thing that kept him hoping it was a nightmare, was the fact that he remembered falling asleep, and now seeing this man in his living room.

"Who me? I go by a lot of names, sport," he said, laughing, as though he _enjoyed_ seeing the confusion and fear on the child's face. "But some call me-"

"Yellow—Eyes," Sam said, his heart permanently lodging itself in his throat, when he saw the demon's eyes momentarily flash that sick yellow color, before returning to the same color its host body had, before it had gotten possessed.

"Well, that's one of them," he said with a smirk. "And do _you_," he said, moving around Sam in a slow circle, as though he were stalking his prey. "Know how important _you_ are to me?"

"Important?" Sam repeated, his voice coming out in nothing more than a low whisper, as he looked at his surroundings. They were still in the cabin, still in the same house that Bobby had led them to, believing that it would be the safest hideaway for them.

"_Yes—_important to _me_ in the grand scheme of things."

"What?" Sam asked, swallowing the thick lump in the back of his throat, as he searched for a way out. "What are you talking about?"

"You," Yellow-Eyes said, as he took a brazen step foreword and clasped his hand down painfully on Sam's shoulder. "You and all the others like you."

"Like _me_?"

"Yes. You have been special to me since before you were even a thought in anyone's mind."

"Why?"

"All in good time, sport," he said, shaking his head. "Can't go revealing the ending before the beginning, can I?"

"How are you in here right now?"

It was the question he had most wanted to ask, and the question he was so afraid of getting answered. Because if this demon was really in there, that would mean they would have to pack up and move again.

Go to their second hideout in less than twenty-four hours; it was dizzying.

"I'm not," he said. "So you can stop that look on your face, kid."

"Then how-" Sam said, struggling to put two and two together. "Then how are you talking to me right now?"

"I can't get in because of the iron, and those devils traps, but that doesn't mean I can't look inside your noggin, kid, and give you a little visit once in awhile."

Supposing he should feel relieved that the demon hadn't actually found its way inside their carefully built walls, he still felt on guard as he watched the demon wearily, trying to remember every single ounce of self-defense that Caleb had worked with him on.

So far, their sessions had been limited. Right after he had seriously started working with him, Jim had died, and that had put everything on the back burner, even all too important things like training sessions.

"What do you want with me?"

"I want _numbers_."

"For _what_?" Sam demanded, sounding braver than he actually felt. Inside, he could feel every nerve tremble with pure terror, as he forced himself to stand his ground.

"For a little party I plan on having," he said, sounding as though it were no big deal what he was proposing. "But you don't have to worry, I won't need you until you're big and strong!"

"Excuse me-"

"So make sure you eat your wheaties, sport."

"Or what?" Sam challenged, using the same word choice that he knew his brother would have used in the same exact situation.

"Or you'll be choking on your own blood," he said, taking a step closer to Sam. "Like Jim did."

"It was _you_?" Sam asked, his eyes widening in horror. "You did that?"

"It was simply a case of being in the wrong place at the right time. I needed something to shake you guys up a little bit, let you know that I was watching, and when my little side trip to Nebraska, didn't phase you, I decided to up the ante a little bit."

Feeling hot tears of grief and pain all over again, as they pricked the corners of his eyes, Sam sucked them back as much as he could, as he shook his head in disbelief. "How could you do that to him?"

"It was _easy—_I've killed more times than I can count the number of years I've been roaming this cold, dark chunk of land."

"Did you do that to my Mom and Dad, too?"

After all, if this demon could so effortlessly slaughter someone that he was as close to as actual family, why couldn't this demon have been responsible for the murders of his Mom and Dad?

"Mary? She was a _feisty _one. A lot of spunk, but she went back on our bargain so yes, I did."

Sam shook his head. "Dad?"

"No. Well," he said, "my time here is almost up. But," he warned, "if you go blabbing this little meeting to anyone, I might just have to wipe another player off the chess board."

* * *

><p>Awaking with a gasp, he looked around in a blind panic, before realizing everything was alright. Sucking in a deep breath as he swallowed back convulsively, Sam rose to his feet, looked over at his brother to make sure he was still sleeping soundly, and then walked down the hall to where he knew Caleb was.<p>

When they had first arrived at the new house, he and Dean thought it would be fun to camp out in the living room together since there weren't any double beds in any of the rooms, but now he was seeking out the security blanket of being with an adult, someone who he _knew _could protect him and his brother from any harm that tried to come into their lives.

The room was dark, but Sam could still make out Caleb's bed well enough that he didn't have to turn on any lights to guide his way. Sighing softly, as he climbed underneath the covers, he tried to find some relief in the fact that he felt safer, but he didn't.

As long as he kept his mouth shut, his family would be spared more pain, but what if he didn't? Who would be next on the demon's hit list? Caleb? Bobby? Even Dean?

"Sammy?"

Looking over at Caleb, he hadn't realized that he had woken, he had been so absorbed in his own thoughts.

"Hi," he whispered. "Sorry I woke you."

"You didn't," Caleb assured him. "I was half-asleep when you came in. Is everything okay?"

In how many ways could he say no? Settling for shaking his head, he scooted down further until he was lying almost flat on his back with the one pillow underneath his head, and the comfy mattress cushioning his body.

"No," he whispered. "It's not okay."

"What's not?" Caleb asked softly. "Did you have a bad dream, bud?"

A bad dream that had gone on inside his head, with the demon live and in person.

"Yeah."

"Why don't you tell me about it," Caleb suggested, as he turned on the light beside the bed, and propped himself up with one elbow.

"I can't," Sam said, as he faced away from Caleb, and buried his head in the pillow.

It was too much, and as the broken cries ripped through his body, he clenched the pillow, hoping that if he let the fear run its course, it would eventually go away. It was a situation that no nine-year-old should ever have to be put in, and even though he tried to act older than his age, and be brave like his brother, he was suddenly realizing just how young he was.

"Sam?" Caleb said. "Buddy, what's wrong?" he asked, as he gently pulled Sam away from the pillow so they were facing again.

"I can't tell you," Sam cried. "I can't!"

"Why can't you?" Caleb asked.

"Because I can't."

"Why?"

"Because you might get hurt, or Bobby or Dean, and I can't lose either of you."

"We might get hurt because of a nightmare you had?"

Sam nodded. "I can't tell you, I'm sorry."

"Sam, if there's a problem, I have to know about it."

"But if you know, you could get killed. All of you could."

Caleb couldn't ever remember Sam being so torn up about something like that, and it honestly confused him as he wracked his brain for a way to get Sam to open up to him more. It was never like Sam to withhold information when it was being requested, and the only plausible explanation was that something had happened in that dream, that had terrified him so deeply that it was lifelike to him, and whatever he saw in his head, was enough to keep him quiet.

"Did someone talk to you in your dream?"

Sam hesitated, before shaking his head. "No."

That would be as good as telling him the entire thing, and he couldn't risk it. As much as he wanted to share the burden with someone else, the idea of losing what family he had left, kept him back from doing that.

"Are you in danger?"

"No."

It wasn't entirely the truth, and it wasn't entirely a lie, either, as he turned over on his side, trying to reclaim the lost sleep he had suffered over this ordeal.

"Do you want to try to go to sleep?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay, bud."


	21. Chapter 21

"Something's up with your brother," Caleb remarked.

"Like, what do you mean?" Dean asked distractedly, as he focused intently on the job before him, as he expertly dissembled one of their guns for cleaning.

It was a job that he had performed so many times in the last eight or nine years that he was quite sure he would be able to accomplish the task in his sleep. However, for safety reasons, he settled on doing it while wide awake.

"He had a nightmare last night."

"I figured that's what happened. When I woke up, he wasn't there, and I sort of assumed he was in with you."

"Yeah," Caleb said, as he scrubbed a hand over his face, as he supervised what Dean was doing. "Make sure to use the cleaner."

"Duh," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "So what was the dream about?"

"I don't know—he refused to tell me."

"He _refused_?" Dean asked, looking up from the job he was doing, to meet Caleb's calm gaze. "Why?"

It wasn't like Sam to deliberately withhold information when it was being requested of him. Typically, he couldn't wait to spout out whatever he had learned, or whatever his guardians wanted him to reveal. Having him willingly choose to not say anything, was unusual.

"Yeah," Caleb said, "he absolutely refused to say anything. He said that if we knew what was in the nightmare, we might get killed."

"_Killed_?" Dean asked incredulously. "What is he talking about?"

"I don't know. I couldn't get anything more out of him, but whatever he saw in that dream, it was enough to completely freak him out."

Dean was silent for a few minutes as he concentrated on what he was doing—he didn't know what to think, how best to handle the situation. When he had briefly seen Sam that morning, he hadn't mentioned anything about a nightmare, and for the most part, had seemed okay, as he bounced around his new room as he got dressed.

Apparently it had all been an act, something to throw his guardians and brother off that something was wrong, that he had had a traumatic night that he didn't want anyone knowing about.

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

"Yeah," Caleb said, "and if he says anything about that dream, come and find me."

"I will."

While he and Sam had always shared an open and honest relationship with each other as brothers, he wasn't sure how much he would be able to weasel out of him if he even refused to speak to Caleb about it, something that they always felt comfortable doing.

When he went to find his brother, he found him in the living room, his eyes glued on the TV as he played _Mario Bros. _It was a favorite game of both of theirs, and sometimes they even enjoyed competing with each other on difficult levels.

"That game _again?_" Dean moaned, as he threw himself on the couch to watch his little brother play.

"Yeah," Sam shrugged. "It's fun."

"And you always beat me," Dean said, shaking his head. "So naturally you pick _this _game."

"Well, yeah. I finally found _something _I'm good at and you're not."

Mario was the only game Sam could successfully beat his big brother at, and loved playing it as a result, especially when he and Dean were trying to find something to do to entertain themselves.

"You're sick," Dean said, leaning foreword to flick his brother in the ear, something he despised with a burning passion.

"Knock it off, Dean."

"Why?"

"Because I told you to."

"Uh-huh," Dean said, "and you think that has any impact over me?"

"It _should_," Sam said, raising an eyebrow. "Caleb's been teaching me how to throw punches."

"Did he teach you a right hook yet?"

"No. Just the basics, mostly."

"Well, let me know when he teaches you that. _Then _I'll be scared."

"Whatever."

"So," Dean said casually, as he flipped through one of his sports magazines. "It was pretty fun camping out here last night."

"Yeah," Sam said, as he avoided Dean's eyes, as he distracted himself with the game. "It was."

"What happened while I was asleep?" Dean asked, venturing further into what he knew from Caleb, but not wanting to directly reveal to Sam that Caleb had confided in him about the nightmare.

"Nothing."

"Did you sleep okay?"

"I had a nightmare."

"And then you went and found Caleb?"

"Yeah, I slept in there after I had it." 

"I figured that when I woke up and you weren't there."

"Sorry."

"No biggie," Dean said, shrugging. "So what was this nightmare about?"

"Nothing," Sam said, avoiding Dean's questioning gaze, as he performed a particularly difficult move on the game. "It was nothing."

"So, why can't you tell me about it?"

"Because there's nothing _to _tell," Sam said, suddenly sounding defensive.

"Look, I'm just worried," Dean said, "and I just want to know what happened."

"Did Caleb tell you about it?"

H wasn't mad at him, just curious as to why Dean was interrogating him so intently about the nightmare that he had had. While he wanted nothing more than to be able to confide in his family about the details of the demon's visit, he couldn't.

He knew enough to take the threats seriously, and that included not telling his family about the specifics of the visit. The threat of something happening to them was keeping his mouth shut, even though he hated lying to his family, and hated _not_ telling them when he knew he should.

"Yeah, he was worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"Sam," Dean said, leaning foreword as he looked at his brother. "If there is something you're not telling us, you need to. We can't have anything else happen to one of us, and if this a secret that could hurt one of us-"

"_You_ could get hurt _if _I tell you."

"Right, but Sam, we're in a house where we're protected against pretty much anything. No demon can get over these walls, or break through a window again. If there's ever a safe place to tell us something, here it is."

Knowing he was too upset to play his game any longer, Sam switched it off as he fought back tears. There was no way Dean or anyone would understand the weight of what the demon had told him, and the confusion and fear that it placed on an already crowded soul.

"I can't lose anyone else-" he began, but was almost immediately interrupted by Dean.

"You _won't_, Sam, but you have to tell us. I don't care if you're scared," he said harshly. "I can't lose _you_, either."

"You won't," Sam promised quietly, not knowing what else to say.

"You know," Dean said, hoping this would get him to understand, get him to finally confide in what had scared him so greatly. "Every morning when I wake up, I have a split second where I think everything is okay. Jim's okay, our _family_ is okay, and then reality hits me, and he's not here, he's gone, and we're in hell."

Sam nodded. "I've had that feeling before."

"So I force myself to put a smile on my face, even if it doesn't mean crap in the end, and I try to go on the best way I know how. If I didn't have you or Caleb, or Bobby, I don't know what I would do," Dean confessed quietly, as unwilling tears poked the corners of his eyes.

Sam nodded, wisely choosing to stay quiet as he listened to his brother speak so openly, something that was rare for his usually stoic and brave big brother.

"So, I can't lose anymore of you. We have the power and the means to protect you, Sam, but you have to be honest with us, no matter how hard it is."

"Even if it means one of us gets killed?" Sam whispered, swiping a few stray tears from the corners of his eyes.

"I can't _promise _nothing will _ever _happen to one of us," Dean said, choosing his words carefully, "but I _can _promise that we're in this together, and as long as all of us are in it, we'll fight right to the end."

Sam nodded. "It wasn't really a dream...it was more like..."

"A head trip?"

"A demon visited me in my head."

"Who?" Dean asked, fighting to keep his voice under lock and key so Sam would feel more obligated to continue his story.

"_The _demon," Sam said, as a single tear slid down his cheek. "The same one that killed _Mom._"

"Mom?" Dean echoed, feeling a tear of his own slide down his cheek, as his heart skipped a beat. "The demon that killed Mom-"

"And Jim" Sam said, as his voice completely shattered. "He told me that if I ever told anyone about this, that he would take someone else. Do you see why now? Do you understand why I couldn't say anything?"

"Yes."


	22. Chapter 22

"You have to tell him."

"I know," Sam said, heaving a deep sigh as he looked at his big brother. "But the demon said-"

"I _know _what the demon said," Dean replied, shaking his head. "But the demon doesn't know our family, and how strong we are. Right?"

Sam hesitated before nodding. "Right."

It had been a big step just confiding in Dean what his demon visitor had told him, but the idea of going even further and involving the adults in the situation, was even scarier, and the threats the demon had made, kept resounding in his head on a never ending loop.

"If we tell them," Dean said, "we'll be more prepared to handle anything that comes our way," he said, as he tried to rationalize it with his brother. "They can protect us better than you know, and if we _don't _tell them?"

"Bad things can happen," Sam whispered, his bottom lip jutting out adorably in a pout.

"So we have to tell Caleb and Bobby," Dean said, lowering his voice so he wouldn't freak out his brother even more. "They might be upset, but they won't be mad at _you_. It's not your fault."

Sam shook his head in disagreement, clearly not agreeing with what his brother was telling him, as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Of course it's _my_ fault."

"What the hell is _that _supposed to mean?" Dean asked incredulously.

"The demon has plans for _me—_he came into my nursery for _me—_and Mom died because of it, and now Jim's gone, too!" he yelled, as hot tears of anger streamed down his face, although he ignored them for the most part as he faced off with his brother.

"This is _not _your fault," Dean argued back. "You never asked for any of this crap to happen! You didn't ask for a demon to come and _murder _our mother! You didn't ask for the demon to find Jim and do that to him," he said, feeling a fresh wave of unresolved grief assault his senses as he fought it off.

"I know! But this happening _because _of me!"

"It doesn't mean it's your fault, Sam."

Sam had a hard time figuring out his brother's logic, but he didn't say any more as he tried to contemplate walking into the room, and telling Caleb what he had just told Dean, and possibly having a storm of consequences that they wouldn't be prepared for.

"Okay," he finally said. "I'll tell him."

"Alright, thank you."

Dean knew how hard it was for his brother to push back his fears, and do the right thing in telling Caleb what the demon had told him, but it was the right choice, and it was the one that would probably save their lives in the end.

Sam dawdled awhile before going to find Caleb. A part of him was hoping to avoid the discussion altogether, and another part of him was hoping that he would somehow get the courage to have the same talk that he had had with Dean, with Caleb.

"Hey, dude," Caleb said, as the nine-year-old entered the kitchen where he was.

"Hey," Sam said, as he casually slid into the seat next to Caleb. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to find a job."

"What happened to your old one?"

Last he knew, Caleb had been able to hold down a steady job working construction. But ever since they had left their home, working had become impossible due to safety reasons, and the travel logistics of commuting several hours from Sioux Falls to Minnestoa.

"I got fired."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't show up, and when you're absent a certain number of hours, they count that against you, and eventually let you go."

"Oh. So," Sam said, hoping to avoid derailing into the unwanted subject as long as possible. "What kind of job are you looking for now?"

"Anything, really, but preferably something I can do from home."

"Really?" Sam said, his eyes lighting up in spite of himself.

Since Jim's death, it had been hard for he and Dean to be separated from Caleb or Bobby, even if it was for something relatively minor and normal like working, and hearing that he might get a job working from there, was something that would be much better emotionally for them at the moment.

"Yeah," Caleb said, smiling softly as he reached over to teasingly ruffle his hair. "It gets kind of boring not being here with you two rugrats."

"That's because we're awesome," Sam said, using one of his brother's frequently used phrases. "So, um, do you want to know more about my nightmare?"

That seemed to grab Caleb's attention—abandoning his job applications for the time being, he turned his body around so that it was facing the nervous nine-year-old. For the first time in what seemed like ever, Sam hadn't felt like he could confide in his guardians, and what horrors had played out inside his head.

"I would like to know more," Caleb said quietly, "and why you felt like you couldn't tell me."

"It wasn't that I didn't _want _to tell you," Sam began, nervously twisting his hands around the other, as he figured out the best angle to approach the topic from. "It was that I felt like I _couldn't_."

"Okay," Caleb said, nodding. "But _why_?"

Here goes nothing.

"Because in my _dream_," he said, using the term loosely. "I was visited by someone."

"What _someone_?" Caleb asked, feeling his heart rate spike.

"The demon," Sam said, bowing his head in an attempt to combat the erratic pounding of his own heart, which was resounding in his ears. "It came to me."

"The same one that came at the other house?"

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding. "It said a lot of things."

"What things?" Caleb asked, trying to keep a lid on his emotions, as he tried to coax more information out of the traumatized child.

"He didn't really go into detail, but he said that he _plans _for me and all the other children _like _me."

"Like you?"

It wasn't the first time Caleb and the guys had heard rumors about the demon attaching itself to Sam, but they had dismissed it for the most part when nothing serious had happened, and the threats had seemed to go away.

"That's what he said," Sam said helplessly. "He said he had plans for me."

"And he said not to mention them to us," Caleb surmised.

Sam nodded, feeling his bottom lip begin to quiver. "And he said that if I told you, he would kill someone else. Like he did Jim," Sam said, feeling a torrent of tears stream down his cheeks, "and Mom."

"The demon killed Jim and your Mom?"

This was new—before, they had had no clue who had been responsible for the grisly murders of Jim, and years before that, Mary. Knowing that it had been a demon, hadn't helped their crusade in figuring out who exactly had been responsible.

"Yeah. And if I told, the same thing might happen to you."

"Sam," Caleb said, as he pulled him close. "Nothing will happen to me. Or to Bobby."

"You can't promise that," Sam said, shaking his head. "Jim probably thought nothing would happen to _him_, and look what that demon did to him."

It still horrified him that his guardian could die in such a horrific and brutal way. Someone who was so loving and gentle with he and brother, would go out in such a terrifying way. It was something that Sam still hadn't reconciled himself with, and probably never would.

It was still too fresh in his mind—still too upsetting.

"I know I can't _promise_," Caleb said, meeting his shaken gaze. "But I _can _promise you that I will do everything in my power to stay here, and be with you boys."

For the past eight years, he had willingly chosen to be there for the boys, to be their guardian and that meant taking the bad with the good, and choosing to lead a somewhat normal and quiet life that didn't involve moving around so much like most hunters did.

The move was risky, though, as he was becoming well aware of. It gave demons a chance to find them, it gave relatively minor charges like fraud or theft, a chance to catch up to them, and it exposed the people they associated with, put them at risk for something happening to them.

"But what if-" Sam began, not able to fully trash the notion that something might happen to one of them.

"But until something happens," Caleb said, a teasing grin spreading across his face, as he put a finger to Sam's lips, "we won't talk about it, okay?"

"Okay," Sam said, nodding. "So how are you going to find a job?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like, weren't you arrested last year for murder and fraud charges?"

"I was."

It wasn't a particularly fond memory, and one that he had stored in the storage bin in the back of his mind that didn't want to think about bad spots like that. Being stuck in a jail cell for the majority of the day, hearing wild and malicious accusations carelessly hurled at him by the prosecution, narrowly avoiding a life sentence.

It was definitely something that he didn't care to dwell on—especially since he had come so close to losing the boys, and the family they had so carefully and lovingly built in Minnesota.

"So how can you get a job?" 

"Well," Caleb said thoughtfully, as he glanced down at the list of available openings. "The murder charge won't count against me since I was never convicted of anything, but the fraud might be a tricky one to get over."

"Why?"

Sam, ever the curious and intuitive one. His brain was like a sponge, constantly absorbing what he learned, and always wanting to learn _more_.

"Because according to the law, I obtained those credit cards fraudulently, and that happens to be illegal," Caleb said with a laugh. "So I got charged for it."

"Dean said you pleaded guilty. Why?"

"Because if I pleaded guilty to those charges, I was promised a reduced sentence."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, then when I got acquitted of murder, my attorney pushed for the sentence to be served out with probation, and the judge luckily agreed."

"Wow."

"Yeah, I know. So the fraud charge is on my record, but there are people who have been convicted of worse and they still find jobs."

"Oh okay."

"Sam," Caleb said, "I really am proud of you for telling me this."

"Thanks. I told Dean about it first, and he said I should tell you."

"He was right. It's important we know these things, Sam, so we can know what to do in order to protect you."

"I know."

"So, how about I finish my applications, and then why don't we grab your brother and we go out and do something?"

"Really?" Sam asked, his face lighting up at the possibility of spending some time outside the confines of the house.

"Really," Caleb confirmed. "It's been awhile since we've spent some time together, just the three of us."

"Yeah, it has."


	23. Chapter 23

Caleb knew how eager the boys were to get out of the house. It had been almost a week since they had come to Bobby's safe house for them, and while the house was a fortress of protection and security, it didn't offer the one thing that the boys were struggling to adjust to: a lack of freedom.

Before Jim's death, they had enjoyed the freedom that most took for granted. Being able to go out with friends, attending a school on a regular basis, and while the guys had wanted that for them, they also knew to be realistic in their expectations, and to be prepared for things to shift at a seconds notice.

And it had.

With Jim's death, had come a deep, unsettling fear in all of them that something could happen again, that the same monster responsible, would seek out a new opportunity to wipe another player off the board.

And as a result, the freedom that Sam and Dean had been able to enjoy previously, was no more. Now, Caleb and Bobby were almost paranoid in their drive to protect the boys from the same fate befalling them, and because of that, it meant more time spent at home and less time spent in the company of friends and teachers.

Teachers and friends that could pay the price if the demon decided to make another _point _by killing one or all of them.

Dean understood the need for the enforced security—he had remembered the death of his mother very well, and understood why it was necessary to be cautious, especially when something was seeking out his brother for some twisted, demonic game they were planning.

But for Sam, who was unaccustomed to not having as much freedom as he wanted, the adjustment was more difficult for him, who was used to running outside and going to sleepovers at his friend's house.

"What do you think?" Caleb asked, as he sat down across from Bobby in the living room.

"About what?" Bobby asked curiously, as he put down the paper he had been reading.

"About taking the boys out somewhere."

"I don't see a problem with it," Bobby shrugged. "Didn't you guys do that all the time before?"

"Yeah," Caleb said, shrugging. "We always let them go and hang out at the mall with their friends, but that was before all this other crap happened."

"You mean with Jim and the yellow eyed demon?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. How responsible would I be if I let them go out somewhere by themselves?"

In an unpredictable world that they were living in now, the idea of allowing the boys to venture out by themselves, was a terrifying prospect for Caleb and Bobby, who had no idea what the demon was capable of.

"Is there anywhere else they can go?"

"Not anywhere I would feel comfortable sending them by themselves."

"Right. I mean, at some point, we have to let down the walls a little bit and let them have some more of their freedom back," Bobby pointed out.

"But at what cost?" Caleb pointed out. "If it means them getting kidnapped and tortured by some sadistic demon? I'd rather them be here the rest of their lives!"

"I know," Bobby said calmly. "We can take them to that new arcade that just opened up around here."

"That might work."

It would be someplace local, someplace safe for the boys to engage with other kids their age, and have some fun for once in their lives. Ever since Jim had died, the boys had been more reserved more shy as a result of the trauma they had suffered in losing him.

"I think so."

Needless to say, the boys were thrilled with the idea of going to the arcade. It had been awhile since they had had the opportunity to get out and explore the world around them. Only for safety reasons, but it had been hard for them to adjust to the abrupt change.

Cabin fever had quickly set in for both of them, and this was a welcome reprieve from being stuck at home for hours everyday.

"This is great," Dean said, as he tried out a game with Sam.

"I know!" Sam said, grinning for the first time in what seemed like ages. "Do you want to play Pacman?"

"Sure."

The fun and games was bound to end soon, but they didn't think about that, or the fact that the guys were in the background watching them. All they cared about, was the fact that finally they were able to get out and stretch the over exhausted kinks in their legs.

By the time they were ready to go back to the house, they were both tired. Their eyelids drooping in spite of themselves, as they struggled to stay conscious long enough to safely clamber into their respective beds to sleep off all the excitement they had shared together.

For Caleb and Bobby, they were relieved that they had been able to gift the boys with that trip. It had been much needed for all of them, and had given the boys a chance to venture out like they had used to before all the terror and craziness had assaulted their lives.


	24. Chapter 24

**Epilogue**

It had been two months since Jim's death, and while most of the original scars from his death, still remained in the minds and consciences of the people that he loved the most, the boys and Caleb had long ago started the slow and arduous process of healing.

The first step in the arduous process was to return home once the immediate danger had seemed to go away. The demon hadn't made any new threats or visits to Sam, and while the option always remained open to stay at the safe house that Bobby had directed them to, the boys were homesick and wanted to reclaim some of the normalcy and privacy they had previously enjoyed in Minnesota.

One of the first steps that also happened to be one of the hardest, at least for Caleb, was loosening some of the protective reins, and let them go back to their private school. Not that the boys weren't well prepared if anything _should _happen.

Sam, while still in the very beginning stages of his training, knew his way around a knife, and had been warned by Caleb to keep the one he had given him to put in his backpack, well hidden in case anyone should see it.

It was one security measure that Caleb felt safer with them having. Even though a knife wouldn't protect against everything, it would give them a good chance if anything should happen, and also put some peace in his own heart, when he knew he would be forced to work.

After being fired from his original job of construction work, Caleb had found a similar job working for one of the competing companies, and had actually advanced fairly quickly to the spot of assistant manager of the firm.

The pay was larger, the hours more flexible, enabling him to be at home more with the boys, if they needed him to be, and also be around for any emergencies if they should happen or not.

Now that it was the three of them, previously four, it was harder. Having the sole responsibility of putting food on the table, and a stable roof over their heads, was a notion that Caleb hadn't entirely reconciled himself with, as he struggled to shove his own feelings aside in order to make sure the boys were looked after, and protected.

Dean had proved to be an excellent help in helping Caleb manage things around the house, and more importantly, make sure Sam was okay. Even if it was something little, like making sure Sam washed his hands before dinner, or did his homework, it was a help that Caleb appreciated, and it took some of the weight off his already crowded shoulders.

Things were okay—not perfect—but they were okay for the time being. While the wounds from his tragic passing hadn't entirely healed in the two months since his death, they were doing okay.

They had their undying and unconditional love for each other, and the individual bonds they had all established with each other. Dean had his bond with Caleb, and his adoration for his little brother. And Sam was fortunate enough to have a connection with both his brother _and _guardian.

Those strong bonds they had forged with each other, had helped them get through the initial trauma of losing Jim, and would continue to carry them foreword through the years where things would be uncertain, where the pain would sometimes rear its ugly head and be far worse than it was before. Whatever would happen, Dean was grateful that he could be assured of at least one thing, and that was his family's relationship with each other.

Bobby had come around more—every other weekend he would drop by and stay for several days to make sure things were alright, and provide a helping hand to Caleb when he needed it. It was different, the routine they had established, was different than the one before Jim had died, but it was okay, they were managing okay.

Presently the boys were firmly ensconced back into their safe and familiar school routine. For Dean, it was the same, boring teachers and classes, but it was something he tolerated in favor of hanging out with his friends, and enjoying a somewhat "normal" few hours.

That day, Sam's class was going out on a field trip to a local wildlife park. Dean had taken the same trip the year before, and wouldn't be going, much to his relief, who was looking foreword to a good, long afternoon of training, something he had dearly missed for awhile.

Caleb had gotten home before them—it didn't surprise him. Usually, with the hours he led, he was able to be home long before the boys returned from school, and was able to make sure they had plenty of snacks for their starving tummies.

In the middle of trying to figure out what they would do for dinner, the phone rang. Frowning in confusion, he picked it up on the last ring.

"Hello?" he said, as he leaned against the wall where the phone was.

_Is this Caleb?_

"Who is this?" Caleb asked, feeling his heart rate spike.

_I'm your worst nightmare._

"What are you talking about?" Caleb asked, figuring it might be a prank caller.

_You're never going to see Sam again._

* * *

><p>Ending on a cliffhanger here, guys. Of course this means that more is on the way!<p> 


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